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AN  EPISODE 

' 


)M   THE   PROVENCAL   OF 

FELIX    Ci 


FELIX  GRAS. 


THE   REDS  OF  THE  MID! 

AN  EPISODE 
OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  PROVENCAL  OF 

FELIX   GRAS 
»^\ 

BY 
CATHARINE   A.   JANVIER 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION   BY 
THOMAS    A.   JANVIER 


NEW    YORK 

APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1896 


C 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION     ......  V 

PROLOGUE   I 

I. — IN  THE  BAD  OLD  TIMES        ....  9 

II. — DEATH  OR  SLAVERY 27 

III. — THE  REDS  OF  THE  MIDI        ....  54 
IV.  — "  THE  MARSEILLAISE  "          .         .         .         .  IO2 
V. — THE    MARCH    OF    THE    MARSEILLES    BAT- 
TALION            145 

VI. — IN  THE  STRANGE  NEW  TIMES       .         .         .  227 

VII. — THE  STORMING  OF  THE  KING'S  CASTLE       .  284 


INTRODUCTION. 


IN  all  French  history  there  is  no  more  in- 
spiring episode  than  that  with  which  M.  Gras 
deals  in  this  story:  the  march  to  Paris,  and  the 
doings  in  Paris,  of  that  Marseilles  Battalion 
made  up  of  men  who  were  sworn  to  cast  down 
"the  tyrant"  and  who  "knew  how  to  die." 
And  he  has  been  as  happy,  I  think,  in  his 
choice  of  method  as  in  his  choice  of  subject. 
Had  his  hero  been  a  grown  man,  or  other  than 
a  peasant,  there  would  have  been  more  reason- 
ing in  the  story  and  less  directness.  But  this 
delightful  peasant-boy  Pascalet — so  simple  and 
brave  and  honest  and  altogether  lovable — 
knows  very  little  about  reasoning.  To  him 
the  French  Revolution  is  but  the  opportunity 
that  he  has  longed  for  to  avenge  the  wrongs 
done  to  his  peasant  father;  and  he  is  eager  to 
capture  "the  King's  Castle"  and  to  overthrow 
"the  tyrant"  because  he  understands — though 
vaguely :  for  the  Castle  he  believes  to  be  only  a 


vi  (Jlje  &eb0  of  tl)e  ittibi. 

day's  march  across  the  mountains  from  Avi- 
gnon, and  the  tyrant  is  a  very  hazy  concept  in 
his  little  mind — that  somewhere  along  these 
lines  of  spirited  action  harm  will  come  to  the 
particular  Marquis  against  whom  his  grievance 
lies.  And  so  he  joins  the  Marseilles  Battalion 
and  goes  with  it  on  its  conquering  way;  and 
through  his  uninstructed,  but  very  wide  open, 
eyes  we  see  all  that  happens  on,  and  all  that 
flows  from,  that  heroic  march.  Nor  are  the 
standards  and  convictions  which  accompanied 
the  action  changed  in  the  narration.  Pascalet 
has  become  old  Pascal ;  but  he  still  is  a  peas- 
ant, and  he  still  regards  the  events  which  he 
tells  about  from  the  peasant's  point  of  view. 

It  is  this  point  of  view,  with  its  necessarily 
highly  objective  scheme  of  treatment,  which 
gives  to  M.  Gras's  story  a  place  entirely  apart 
from  all  the  fiction  of  the  French  Revolution 
with  which  I  am  acquainted.  Ordinarily — be- 
cause it  is  so  much  easier  to  do — writers  of 
stories  of  this  period  prefer  to  make  them  with 
Aristocrats  for  heroes  and  heroines;  and,  done 
that  way,  it  certainly  is  very  easy  indeed  to  ex- 
cite sympathy  and  to  achieve  lurid  dramatic 
effect.  But  the  more  difficult  way  that  M. 
Gras  has  chosen,  and  in  choosing  has  cast 
aside  deliberately  so  much  of  the  easily-manip- 


Jntrobnction.  vii 


ulated  machinery  of  ordinary  romance,  seems 
to  me  to  lead  to  far  more  realistic  and  also  to 
far  more  artistic  results.  His  epitome  of  the 
motive-power  of  the  Revolution  in  the  feelings 
of  one  of  its  individual  peasant  parts  is  the 
very  essence  of  simplicity  and  directness;  and 
equally  simple  and  direct  is  his  method  of  pre- 
sentment. Old  Pascal  goes  straight  ahead  with 
his  recital  of  personal  incident  and  of  the  scraps 
of  historic  fact  which  have  come,  more  or  less 
accurately,  to  his  personal  knowledge  because 
he  was  a  part  of  them  himself;  and  his  rare 
attempts  at  explanation  of  the  undermeaning 
of  events  is  but  the  echo  of  the  popular  senti- 
ment of  the  time  in  which  he  lived.  The 
author  always  is  out  of  sight  in  the  back- 
ground. Even  in  the  instances  when  a  side- 
light is  necessary  it  comes  with  an  absolute 
naturalness  in  the  shape  of  question  or  com- 
ment from  the  chorus — from  one  or  another  of 
the  delightful  little  company  in  the  Shoemak- 
er's shop  to  which  the  story  is  told.  This 
method  has  the  largeness  and  the  clearness  of 
the  Greek  drama.  The  motives  are  distinct. 
The  action  is  free  and  bold.  The  climax  is  in- 
evitable. Even  allowing  for  my  natural  preju- 
dice in  favour  of  the  work  of  a  very  dear  friend, 
I  think  that  I  am  right  in  holding  this  story  in 


viii  ®lje  ftebs  of  tlje  Xttibi. 

high  esteem  as  an  unusual  and  excellent  work 
of  art. 

A  leading  motive  with  the  author  has  been 
to  do  justice  to  a  body  of  men  that  history  has 
treated  very  unfairly.  For  more  than  a  century 
the  Battalion  that  marched  from  Marseilles  to 
Paris,  and  there  took  so  large  a  part  in  precipi- 
tating the  French  Revolution,  has  been  very 
generally  slandered.  French  and  English  his- 
torians, with  few  exceptions,  have  united  in 
describing  it  as  a  band  of  cut-throats  and 
thieves :  in  part  made  up  of  runaway  galley- 
slaves  from  Toulon,  and  in  part  of  international 
scrapings  from  the  slums  of  Marseilles.  Car- 
lyle,  in  his  time,  was  almost  alone  in  doing 
partial  justice  to  this  company  of  hot  patriots. 
"  Forcats  they  were  not,  neither  was  there 
plunder  nor  danger  of  it,"  he  wrote;  but 
added,  hedgingly:  "Men  of  regular  life  or  the 
best  filled  purse,  they  could  hardly  be."  Yet, 
lacking  full  knowledge  in  the  premises,  his 
Scotch  shrewdness  withheld  him  from  com- 
mitting himself.  "These  Marseillese,"  he  con- 
cluded, "remain  inarticulate,  undistinguisha- 
ble  in  feature;  a  black-browed  mass,  full  of 
grim  fire,  who  wend  there  in  the  hot  sultry 
weather:  very  singular  to  contemplate.  They 


Jntrobuction.  ix 


wend;  amid  the  infinitude  of  doubt  and  dim 
peril;  they  not  doubtful:  Fate  and  Feudal  Eu- 
rope, having  decided,  come  girdling  in  from 
without;  they,  having  also  decided,  do  march 
within.  Dusty  of  face,  with  frugal  refresh- 
ment, they  plod  onwards ;  unweariable,  not  to 
be  turned  aside.  Such  march  shall  become  fa- 
mous. They  must .  .  .  strike  and  be  struck; 
and  on  the  whole  prosper,  and  know  how  to 
die."  But  he  felt  that  he  had  not  uncovered 
all  the  truth,  and  that  what  remained  hidden 
was  worth  digging  for.  Before  parting  with 
these  vaguely-defined  heroes  he  offered  the 
suggestion :  "  If  enlightened- Curiosity  ever  get 
sight  of  the  Marseilles  Council-Books,  will  it 
not  perhaps  explore  this  strangest  of  Municipal 
procedures ;  and  feel  called  to  fish  up  what  of 
the  Biographies,  creditable  or  discreditable,  of 
these  Five  hundred  and  Seventeen  (sic),  the 
stream  of  Time  has  not  irrevocably  swallowed." 
Nearly  fifty  years  passed  before  Carlyle's 
suggestion  was  carried  out  in  its  entirety;  and 
the  two  men  who  then  completely  cleared  up 
this  obscure  passage  in  history,  Messieurs  Jo- 
seph Pollio  and  Adrien  Marcel,  did  much  more 
than  explore  the  Marseilles  Council-Books. 
They  carried  their  search  for  facts  deep  and  far; 
and  the  result  of  their  investigations  was  the 


ftebs  of  tije  Ittibi. 


documentary  history,  "  Le  Bataillon  du  10 
Aout"  (Paris.  Charpentier.  1881),  that  has 
placed  the  Marseilles  Battalion  honourably  be- 
fore the  world.  As  the  records  show,  the  five 
hundred  and  sixteen  men  composing  it,  drawn 
almost  wholly  from  the  National  Guard  of  Mar- 
seilles, "were  carefully  chosen  as  being  those 
whose  civicism  and  probity  were  guaranteed 
by  the  twelve  Commissioners  named  by  the 
Conseil  General " ;  and  the  few  volunteers  from 
neighbouring  towns — including,  in  the  Third 
Company,  Louis  Vauclair  from  Avignon — were 
accepted  under  the  same  conditions.  In  the 
end,  having  accomplished  the  purpose  for 
which  it  went  to  Paris,  the  Battalion  returned 
to  Marseilles ;  where  it  was  received  with  civic 
honours  (October  22,  1792),  and  subsequently 
was  incorporated  into  the  Army  of  the  Pyre- 
nees. Other  battalions  were  despatched  from 
Marseilles,  at  later  dates,  which  were  less  care- 
fully chosen  and  which  had  records  by  no 
means  so  good.  With  these  the  first  Battalion 
has  been  confounded,  either  by  accident  or  in- 
tention, and  ever  since  has  suffered  for  their 
sins.  But  the  men  of  Marseilles  with  whom 
Pascalet  marched,  chanting  the  Republican  An- 
them that  ever  since  has  been  known  by  their 
name  because  they  first  gave  it  currency  in 


France,  were  precisely  the  simple  and  honest 
patriots — stern  only  in  the  discharge  of  the 
great  duty  which  they  believed  was  theirs-^ 
whom  M.  Gras  has  described. 

The  loving  touch  that  is  so  evident  in  the 
setting  of  the  story  comes  naturally,  for  there 
the  author  is  writing  of  his  own  people  and 
his  own  home.  It  was  in  the  little  town  of 
Malemort,  a  year  worse  than  half  a  century 
ago,  that  Felix  Gras  was  born.  His  charming 
Prologue — even  his  lament  that  Fate  forbade 
him  to  be  a  shoemaker,  and  so  cut  him  off 
from  hearing  any  more  of  old  Pascal's  stories — 
is  pure  autobiography ;  and  the  lightly,  and  so 
delightfully,  touched-in  portraits — the  Grand- 
father, Lou  Materoun,  the  Shoemaker  and  the 
rest,  including  old  Pascal  himself— are  all  direct 
from  life. 

I  am  confident  that  M.  Gras  would  have 
become  a  very  good  shoemaker,  had  he  been 
permitted  to  follow  the  inclination  that  was  so 
strong  upon  him  when  he  was  ten  years  old. 
Assuredly,  he  would  have  given  to  the  prac- 
tice of  that  gentle  and  philosophic  craft  the 
same  energy  (though  differently  applied)  that 
has  won  for  him  success  in  law  and  in  litera- 
ture. But  as  the  Department  of  Vaucluse 


xii  ®l)e  Rebs  of  tl)c  itliM. 

would  have  lost  an  excellent  Juge  de  Paix,  and 
as  the  world  would  have  lost  a  rare  poet,  it 
is  fortunate  that  his  shoemaking  aspirations 
were  sapped  by  the  judicious  interposition  of 
the  colour-box  and  the  cornet-a-pistons  and 
the  five  little  blue  volumes  telling  about  the 
War  of  Troy. 

When  his  schooling  was  ended  he  came 
back  to  his  father's  farm  at  Malemort;  but  as 
his  passion  for  hunting  (quite  as  strong  now  as 
then)  led  him  most  outrageously  to  neglect  his 
farm-work  in  order  to  go  off  with  his  dog  and 
gun  into  the  fastnesses  of  Mont  Ventour,  he 
presently  was  despatched — being  then  twenty 
years  old — to  Avignon  to  begin  the  study 
of  the  law:  from  which  study  farther  esca- 
pades into  the  mountains  were  not  practi- 
cable. 

In  his  case  the  ways  of  the  law  led  into  the 
ways  of  literature  very  directly.  The  Avignon 
notary  to  whom  he  was  articled,  Maitre  Jules 
Giera,  was  himself  a  writer  of  merit  and  was 
the  brother  of  Paul  Giera,  one  of  the  seven 
founders  of  the  Felibrige:  the  society  of  Pro- 
vencal men  of  letters,  having  for  its  leaders 
Frederic  Mistral  and  Joseph  Roumanille,  which 
has  developed  in  the  past  thirty  years  so  noble  a 
literary  and  moral  renascence  not  only  in  Prov- 


Snlrobtiction.  xiii 


ence  but  throughout  the  whole  of  Southern 
France.  With  one  of  these  leaders,  Rouma- 
nille — who  had  married  Rose  Ana'i's  Gras,  his 
sister,  the  winner  of  the  prize  for  poetry  at  the 
Floral  Games  at  Apt  in  1862 — he  already  was 
intimate;  and  his  coming  to  Avignon. and  en- 
try into  the  lawyer's  office,  therefore,  was  his 
entry  into  the  most  inspiring  artistic  society 
that  has  existed  in  modern  times — that  has 
had,  indeed,  no  modern  parallel  in  its  vigour 
and  hopes  and  enthusiasms  save  perhaps  in 
the  Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood;  and  that  has 
had  no  modern  parallel  whatever  in  its  far- 
reaching  results.  His  association  with  such 
companions,  with  whose  aspirations  he  was 
in  close  sympathy,  quickly  produced  its  natu- 
ral consequences :  he  accepted  law  as  his  pro- 
fession, but  he  made  literature  his  career. 

He  has  justified  his  choice.  His  first  im- 
portant work,  an  epic  poem  in  twelve  cantos, 
"Li  Carbounie"  (1876),  treating  of  the  moun- 
tain life  for  which  his  affection  was  so  pro- 
found, placed  him  at  the  head  of  the  younger 
generation  of  Felibres;  and  his  succeeding 
epic,  "Toloza"  (1882),  with  his  shorter  poems 
collected  under  the  title  "Lou  Roumancero 
Prouvencau"  (1887),  placed  him  second  only 
to  the  master  of  all  Provencal  poetry,  Mistral. 


xiv  ®lje  Hebe  of  tfye  HUM. 

The  theme  of  "  Toloza  "  is  the  crusade  of  Simon 
de  Montfort  against  the  Albigenses — treated 
with  a  fervent  strength  that  is  in  keeping  with 
the  author's  own  fervent  love  of  liberty  in  per- 
son and  in  conscience,  and  with  the  beauty 
that  comes  of  a  poetic  temperament  equipped 
with  easy  command  of  poetic  form.  It  vibrates 
with  a  very  lofty  patriotism  and  with  strong 
martial  spirit  and  with  a  great  tenderness,  this 
geste  provencale  in  which  the  gleaming  flitting 
figures  of  the  two  dames  and  the  four  trouba- 
dours at  once  enlighten  the  sombre  narrative 
and  stand  out  with  a  clear  brightness  against 
the  black  back-ground  of  that  unholy  war. 

His  shorter  poems  have  a  different  and,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  a  still  richer  flavour.  But  per- 
haps I  like  them  best  because  it  was  through 
them  that  I  first  knew  him.  Of  the  volume  in 
which  they  are  in  part  collected,  "LouRou- 
mancero  Prouvencau,"  I  wrote  five  years  ago: 
"We  had  read  no  farther  than  'Lou  Papo 
d' Avignoun  '  and  '  Lou  Baroun  de  Magalouno ' 
when  our  minds  were  made  up  that  here  was 
a  singer  of  ballads  whose  tongue  was  tipped 
with  fire.  They  whirled  upon  us,  these  bal- 
lads and  conquered  our  admiration  at  a  blow. 
We  knew  by  instinct — what  time  and  greater 
knowledge  have  shown  to  be  the  truth — that 


JTntrobnction.  xv 


of  all  the  Provengal  poets  whom  we  soon  were 
to  encounter  none  would  set  our  heart-strings 
more  keenly  a-thrilling  than  did  this  fiery  bal- 
lad-maker, Monsieur  Gras."  And  after  our 
meeting  had  taken  place  I  added:  "Our  ideal 
had  not  exceeded  the  reality.  As  fine  and  as 
sympathetic  as  his  poems  is  Felix  Gras  himself. 
The  graciousness  of  his  person,  his  gentle  na- 
ture that  is  also  a  most  vigorously  manly  na- 
ture, his  quick  play  of  wit,  his  smile,  his  voice 
— all  were  in  keeping  with,  even  exceeded, 
what  we  had  hoped  to  find."  That  was  five 
years  ago.  My  appreciation  of  his  work  is- 
fuller,  my  feeling  toward  himself  is  deeper, 
now. 

His  prose  is  the  prose  of  a  poet,  yet  racy 
and  strong.  As  a  leading  contributor  to  the 
e/lrmana  Prouvenfau — of  which  annual,  the 
most  important  of  the  periodic  publications  of 
the  Felibres,  he  has  been  the  editor  since  Rou- 
manille's  death — he  long  since  won  popu- 
larity with  a  public  that  judges  by  high  stand- 
ards and  that  by  nature  is  nicely  critical.  But 
his  finest  prose  work  is  included  in  a  volume 
of  Avignon  stories,  "  Li  Papalino  "  (1891)  which 
have  the  ring  of  the  novella  of  Boccaccio's 
time.  In  these  stories  his  delicate  firmness  of 
touch  is  combined  with  a  brilliancy  and  clear- 


xvi  ®t)e  ftefca  of  llje  ittibi. 

ness  of  style  that  presents  his  dramatic  subjects 
with  the  sparkle  and  vivacity  of  the  Italian  tale- 
tellers of  the  Thirteenth  and  Fourteenth  centuries 
— but  always  with  a  flavour  distinctly  his  own. 
The  Papal  Court  of  Avignon  is  alive  again  be- 
fore our  eyes:  with  its  gallantries,  its  tragedies, 
its  gay  loves  and  deadly  hates,  its  curious 
veneering  of  religious  forms  upon  Mediaeval 
tenderness  and  ferocity.  With  this  period, 
which  appeals  so  strongly  to  poetic  instinct, 
he  long  has  been  on  terms  of  commanding 
familiarity;  as  not  only  these  stories  but  many 
of  his  most  fiery  shorter  poems  show.  And  it 
seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  not  least  to  be 
commended  of  the  qualities  included  in  his 
literary  equipment  is  the  flexibility  that  has 
enabled  him,  in  the  present  work,  so  entirely 
to  change  his  method  in  order  to  adapt  it  to 
the  vivid  treatment  of  a  subject  taken  from 
modern  times. 

Finally,  this  prophet  is  honoured  in  his  own 
country.  Since  August,  1891 — in  succession 
to  Roumanille,  who  succeeded  Mistral — Felix 
Gras  has  been  the  Capoulie,  the  official  head, 
of  the  Felibrige.  In  his  election  to  this  office 
he  received  the  highest  honour  that  can  be  be- 
stowed upon  a  poet  by  his  brother  poets  of  the 
South  of  France. 


Jntrobnction.  xvii 


The  present  translation  has  been  made  di- 
rectly from  the  Proven£al  manuscript,  under 
the  author's  supervision  and  with  the  benefit 
of  his  advice.  The  only  changes  from  the 
original  are  a  few  modifications  of  expression 
which,  while  proper  enough  in  the  case  of 
country-folk  speaking  a  language  of  Latin 
origin,  would  jar  a  little  on  ears  tolerant  only 
of  the  nicety  of  English  speech;  and  these 
changes  the  author  has  approved.  Otherwise 
the  translation  has  preserved  the  letter,  and  I 
think  somewhat  of  the  spirit  of  the  original; 
and  I  can  venture  to  say  for  it,  at  least,  that  it 
has  been  made  with  a  faithful  and  a  loving 
care. 

THOMAS  A.  JANVIER. 

SAINT  REMY  DE  PROVENCE, 
September  i,  189$. 


THE   REDS   OF   THE   MIDI. 


PROLOGUE. 

WHEN  our  neighbour  Pascal,  the  son  of  La 
Patine,  had  grown  so  very,  very  old  that  he 
had  begun  to  nibble  into  his  ninetieth  year,  his 
dotage  came  upon  him.  He,  who  in  the  long 
winter  evenings  had  told  us  from  thread  to  fin- 
ished seam  how  he  marched  with  the  Marseilles 
Battalion  up  to  Paris  to  besiege  King  Capet  in 
his  castle;  Pascal,  who  had  told  us  of  all  the 
battles  of  the  Empire,  from  the  famous  fight  at 
the  Pyramids  to  the  end  of  all  at  Mont-Saint- 
Jean;  good  old  Pascal  de  la  Patine  was  cer- 
tainly in  his  dotage. 

Over  and  over  again  he  kept  saying:  "I 
shall  die  soon ;  I  certainly  am  going  to  die ;  and 
when  I  die  my  brother  Lange  will  die  too — 
and  then  who  will  take  care  of  the  mule?" 

Poor  Pascal!  It  was  sad  to  see  in  such  a 
plight  the  man  who  had  dazzled  us  with  his 
i 


®l)e  ftebs  of  tlje  XttiM. 


epic  tales,  lasting  the  winter  long.  Sometimes, 
even,  he  would  improvise  in  verse  in  a  slow 
rhythm,  with  only  here  and  there  a  rhyme. 
Through  a  whole  evening  he  would  chant  us 
an  episode  of  the  Revolution;  or  of  some 
grand  killing  of  English  or  Germans  or  Rus- 
sians in  the  time  gone  by. 

I  still  can  see  him:  always  seated  in  the 
same  place,  on  the  middle  of  the  bench  that 
ran  across  the  whole  width  of  the  wall  at  the 
back  of  the  shoemaker's  shop — the  meeting 
place  to  which  all  the  neighbours  came  to 
spend  their  evenings. 

The  shoemaker  and  his  apprentice  used  be- 
tween them  a  single  lamp;  but  each  had  his 
separate  lihole,  hanging  before  him  by  a 
leather  thong,  and  the  reddish  lamp-light  pass- 
ing through  the  globe  of  clear  water  cast  upon 
the  sole  or  shoe  on  which  he  was  working  a 
brilliant  streak  of  light  as  clear  as  sunlight. 
The  good  stove,  as  red  as  a  poppy,  made  the 
room  oven-hot.  We  all  sweltered  there  com- 
fortably, simmering  like  a  stew  in  an  earthen 
tian.  And  when  old  Pascal,  passing  into  one 
of  his  bard-like  moods,  fell  to  chanting  his 
story,  then  even  the  shoemaker  and  his  ap- 
prentice, braving  the  angry  looks  of  the  shoe- 
maker's wife,  turned  their  backs  to  the  work- 


prologue.  3 

t 

table  and  for  that  evening  stopped  tap-tapping 
on  their  soles  and  like  the  rest  of  us  listened 
open-mouthed  with  eyes  as  big  as  barn-doors 
and  ears  like  dish-covers. 

I  know  now  that  the  supreme  joy  of  my 
life  came  to  me  then,  when  I  was  nine  years 
old:  when  as  each  evening  ended  and  bed- 
time came  I  longed  and  longed  for  the  morrow 
— that  I  might  hear,  as  I  sat  in  my  corner,  on 
my  little  bench  with  the  cat,  the  end  of  the 
battle  left  half-fought  the  night  before. 

Therefore  was  it  a  mortal  blow  to  me  when, 
being  come  to  ten  years,  I  was  sent  to  the  little 
seminary  of  La  Sainte  Garde  to  begin  my  school- 
ing. 1  even  now  can  plainly  see  my  father's 
cart  harnessed  to  our  old  sorrel  horse — who  in 
all  his  long  life  never  once  had  kicked.  I  see 
it  plainly  as  it  bumps  over  the  stony  road 
through  the  garrigues,  carrying  my  mattrass  in 
a  blue-and-white  checked  cover,  and  my  pig- 
skin trunk  with  stiff  silky  bristles  standing  out 
all  over  it.  I  see  our  pretty  blue  cart — in 
which,  in  our  stable,  I  often  had  played  see- 
saw— standing  at  last  in  the  seminary  court- 
yard; while  two  men,  dressed  like  gentlemen 
in  frock  coats,  take  out  its  load. 

It  was  then  that  my  sorrow  sharply  began. 
My  father  took  me  up  in  his  arms  and  gave  me 


two  big  kisses  (even  to-day  I  can  feel  his  rough 
beard  against  my  soft  cheeks) ;  he  put  a  great 
handful  of  sous  into  my  hand — and  then  he  left 
me !  Victor  the  door-keeper,  who  had  a  little 
pointed  beard  on  his  chin  that  made  him  look 
like  a  good-natured  goat,  came  with  his  great 
bunch  of  keys  and,  cric-crac,  locked  the  door! 

As  long  as  daylight  lasted,  things  went  on 
pretty  well.  I  counted  and  recounted  my  sous, 
letting  them  drop  one  by  one  so  as  to  show 
them  off.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  dozen 
little  fellows  shut  in  like  myself  that  morning. 
But  after  supper,  when  night  fell,  when  I — alas, 
poor  me! — had  to  go  to  bed  all  alone,  I  thought 
of  my  dear  mother  who  when  I  came  home 
dead  with  sleep  from  the  shoemaker's  always 
helped  me  untie  my  shoes ;  and  I  thought  of  old 
Pascal  de  la  Ratine,  whom  I  could  plainly  see 
sitting  on  the  bench  telling  his  beautiful  stories. 
The  tears  burst  forth,  pouring  down  my  cheeks 
to  my  pillow.  I  cried  and  cried ;  until  at  last 
sleep,  the  childish  sleep  that  nothing  disturbs, 
took  possession  of  me  and  held  me  softly  in 
her  arms. 

When  I  awoke,  the  idea  that  all  day  long 
I  could  not  see  my  mother,  and  that  again, 
when  night-fall  came,  I  could  not  spend  the 
evening  with  old  Pascal,  tormented  me  and 


made  me  dull  and  unhappy.  The  next  night 
I  cried  still  more,  and  the  next  day  I  was  still 
more  dull. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  my  father  and  mother 
came  to  see  if  I  had  eaten  and  slept  as  I  should, 
and  if  I  were  getting  used  to  my  new  life. 
How  1  dismayed  them  when  I  told  them  that  I 
could  not  eat,  and  that  I  wanted  to  go  home! 

"But,  my  boy,  surely  you  see  that  you 
must  study.  You  must  learn  arithmetic  and 
all  the  rest,  otherwise  what  will  become  of  you 
when  you  grow  up  ?  "  said  my  father. 

"  I  say  I  want  to  go  home.  I  know  quite 
enough." 

"What  do  you  know,  child?  You  know 
just  nothing  at  all!  " 

"  I  know  how  to  read." 

"You  can  read.  yes.     Well,  what  then  ?" 

"  I  know  how  to  cipher." 

"That's  all  very  well,  as  far  as  it  goes;  but 
you  must  learn  latin,  greek — how  do  I  know 
what  more!" 

"  I  don't  want  to — I  want  to  go  home  with 
you! " 

"Now  see  here,  what  do  you  want  to  be 
— a  doctor,  a  priest,  or  a  lawyer?" 

"None  of  them." 

"You  want  to  be  a  farmer?     That's  a 


Ecbs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


poor  trade,  son.  You  must  get  rid  of  that 
notion." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  farmer — I  want 
to  go  home! " 

All  this  time  my  mother  said  nothing.  She 
merely  nodded  her  head,  while  she  kept  on 
peeling  chestnuts  for  me — which  I  munched 
while  contradicting  my  father.  Until  at  last, 
fairly  out  of  all  patience,  my  father  cried  : 
"Speak  out  then !  If  you  don't  want  to  be  doc- 
tor, priest,  lawyer  nor  farmer,  what  do  you 
want  to  be?" 

"Well,  if  really  you  wish  me  to  tell,"  said 
I,  looking  down,  "I  want — I  want  to  be  a 
shoemaker!" 

"Oh  plague  take  you!"  said  my  father, 
clapping  his  rough  hands  together,  "a  shoe- 
maker! That  beats  all!  Don't  you  know  that 
shoemakers  always  smell  of  shoemaker's  wax  ? 
Come,  come,  I  think  the  blood  in  your  veins 
must  be  dying  out.  What  could  have  put  it 
into  your  head  to  be  a  shoemaker  ?  " 

But  I,  ashamed  of  having  betrayed  my  in- 
most thoughts,  did  not  dare  to  answer.  I 
dared  not  say  that  it  was  because  I  longed  to 
listen  forever  to  the  stories  old  Pascal  de  la 
Patine  would  tell  during  all  the  long  evenings 
to  come.  What  would  1  not  have  been  will- 


ing  to  become,  so  that  I  might  ever  hear  such 
stories ! 

Well,  my  father,  knowing  that  time  would 
settle  all,  persuaded  me  to  remain  a  few  days 
longer  at  the  school;  and  promised  me  that  if 
I  could  not  get  used  to  the  school-life  he  would 
come  for  me  at  the  end  of  the  month,  and  that 
if  then  I  still  was  absolutely  determined  to  be- 
come a  shoemaker  I  should  be  apprenticed  to 
our  neighbour,  in  whose  house  I  had  passed 
so  many  happy  evenings.  But  in  order  to 
reconcile  me  to  my  new  school  he  said  that  I 
might  study  painting — which  at  that  time  was 
my  great  passion — and  also  music;  and  then 
and  there  he  ordered  for  me  a  colour-box  and 
a  cornet-a-pistons:  Mr.  Trouchet,  the  steward, 
was  to  have  them  brought  from  Carpentras  the 
very  next  day. 

Dazzled  by  the  promise  of  these  delights,  I 
felt  as  if  a  great  weight  were  lifted  off  my 
heart;  and,  rising  on  tip-toe,  I  whispered  in 
my  mother's  ear:  "Please  send  me  the  five 
little  blue  books  that  I  read  three  years  ago 
when  I  had  the  whooping-cough — the  books 
that  tell  about  Ulysses  and  Achilles." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know"  said  my  mother, 
"the  War  of  Troy.  I  will  send  them  to- 
morrow." 


®l)e  ftebs  of  llje  HUM. 


Then  my  dear  people  gave  me  another 
handful  of  sous,  and  filled  my  pockets  with 
boiled  chestnuts.  They  kissed  me;  and  then, 
cric-crac,  Victor  the  door-keeper  with  the  kind 
goat's  face  barred  the  door  behind  them — and 
thoughtfully  I  returned  to  my  lessons. 

Nevertheless,  the  paint-box,  the  cornet-a- 
pistons,  and  my  promised  five  little  blue  books, 
filled  my  heart  with  joy:  and  it  is  to  those 
three  things  that  I  owe  my  escape  from  having 
become  a  cobbler  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
Naturally,  I  grew  accustomed  to  the  seminary; 
and  great  Homer  with  his  War  of  Troy  drove 
old  Pascal  out  of  my  mind. 

And  yet — often  I  ask  myself:  Would  it  not 
have  been  better  to  have  persisted  ?  Had  1  be- 
come a  shoemaker,  how  many  good  stories 
might  I  not  have  told!  And  now  I  can  tell 
you  only  one:  the  one  that  I  heard  in  the 
happy  year  which  ended  when  I  put  on 
trowsers  with  suspenders  and  began  my  school- 
ing— and  so  left  shoemaking  forever  behind! 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN   THE   BAD  OLD   TIMES. 

THAT  evening  the  party  was  complete.  I, 
in  my  corner  on  the  little  bench  with  the  cat, 
said  not  a  word;  but  1  thought  to  myself:  "  If 
only  some  one  would  ask  old  Pascal  to  tell  a 
story!  Yesterday  he  finished  telling  us  the 
battle  of  Mont  Saint-Jean;  to-day,  perhaps,  he 
will  tell  us  nothing." 

Just  then  Lou  Materoun,  as  he  pressed  with 
his  thumb  into  his  clay  pipe  a  piece  of  amadou 
that  smelt  sweet  as  it  burned,  said:  "I've 
always  wanted  to  ask  you,  Pascal,  how  it  was 
that  you,  a  peasant  from  Malemort,  happened 
to  be  in  the  Battalion  from  Marseilles  that  went 
up  to  Paris  the  year  of  the  Revolution  ?  That 
always  has  puzzled  me. " 

"It  was  poverty,  young  fellow,"  old  Pascal 
answered  in  his  rich  clear  voice ;  "it  was  just 
poverty.  But  if  you  have  the  patience  to  listen 
I'll  tell  you  about  it  from  first  to  last." 

We  knew  then  that  a  story  was  coming; 

9 


&ebs  of  llje  ittibi. 


and  so  we  all  settled  ourselves  comfortably  to 
listen,  and  old  Pascal  began : 

Why  are  people  always  grunting,  now-a- 
days  ?  They  actually  grunt  because  of  over- 
plenty  !  N.ow-a-days  each  peasant  has  his  own 
corner  of  earth.  He  who  has  earth  has  bread, 
and  he  who  has  bread  has  blood.  I,  who  am 
speaking  to  you,  was  twelve  years  old  before 
ever  I  had  seen  either  kneading-trough,  bread- 
hutch,  oil-jar  or  wine-keg;  things  owned 
now-a-days  by  the  poorest  peasant  in  the  land. 
In  the  one  room  of  my  father's  hut — it  was 
more  a  hut  than  a  cottage — were  two  cradle- 
like  boxes  filled  with  oat-straw  in  which  we 
slept,  the  cooking-pot  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  hanging  from  a  roof-beam,  and  a  big 
chopping-block — and  that  was  all!  That  was 
just  all! 

We  were  lodged  in  this  hut,  which  stood  a 
little  above  the  village  of  Malemort  and  close 
to  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde,  because  we  be- 
longed— with  the  other  farm  animals — to  the 
estate  of  La  Garde,  owned  by  the  Marquis 
d' Ambrun.  My  father  gathered  the  acorns  from 
the  oaks  of  the  Marquis,  and  was  allowed  to 
keep  the  half  of  them  for  his  pay ;  and  we  also 
had  the  right  to  till  two  scraps  of  land,  from 


In  the  I3ab  ©Ib  ®imc0.  n 

which  we  got  enough  beans  and  vetches  and 
herbs  to  keep  us  from  actually  starving  to  death 
—we  three  and  all  our  fleas.  You  will  know 
how  we  lived  when  I  tell  you  that  not  until  I 
got  away  from  La  Garde  altogether  did  I  taste 
anything  as  good  as  a  bit  of  fresh-baked  soft 
bread  dipped  in  soup  made  of  rancid  pork. 

My  people  baked  bread  but  once  a  year. 
When  the  day  for  making  it  came  my  father 
and  mother  went  down  to  the  village  and 
there,  husks  and  all,  kneaded  the  coarse  flour 
made  of  the  rye  and  beans  and  acorns  we  had 
managed  to  collect  in  the  course  of  the  year. 
It  was  on  the  very  block  that  you  can  see  in 
front  of  our  stable,  the  one  on  which  I  cut  fod- 
der for  the  mule,  that  each  morning  my  father 
with  his  big  axe  chopped  up  our  food  for  the 
day.  By  the  end  of  the  year  the  bread  was  so 
hard  that  it  nicked  the  edge  of  the  axe. 

The  first  bit  of  white  bread  that  ever  I 
tasted  was  given  me  one  day  as  I  passed  in 
front  of  the  Chateau  by  Mademoiselle  Adeline, 
who  was  of  the  same  age  as  myself.  And  for 
giving  it  to  me  she  got  a  round  scolding 
from  her  mother,  the  Marquise. 

"Adeline,  Adeline!"  cried  the  Marquise, 
"  Why  do  you  give  your  white  bread  to  that 
little  wretch  ?  You  must  not  teach  him  what 


®|)e  ftcbs  of  tlje  ittiM. 


white  bread  is,  or  the  day  may  come  when  he 
will  snatch  it  out  of  your  mouth!  "  and  then 
turning  to  me,  she  went  on  :  "Get  out  of  here, 
little  beast!  Get  out  !  Hurry  —  or  I  will  set 
the  dogs  on  you!"  And  I,  gripping  fast  my 
bit  of  bread,  scampered  off  to  our  hut  as  fast 
as  I  could  go.  That  piece  of  bread  was  the 
most  delicious  thing  I  have  eaten  in  all  my  life. 
And  yet  the  cruel  words  of  the  Marquise  made 
it  bitter  with  a  drop  of  gall. 

Another  time  I  was  worse  served.  I  was 
coming  home  from  a  hunt  for  some  magpies' 
nests  that  I  knew  of  in  the  poplars  in  the  valley 
of  the  Nesque.  It  was  ten  o'clock;  and,  as  I 
had  eaten  nothing  that  day,  hunger  was  twist- 
ing my  empty  insides.  As  I  passed  behind 
the  Chateau,  skirting  the  stables  and  sheep- 
folds,  I  saw  in  the  gutter  a  fine  cabbage-stalk. 
My  mouth  watered  and  I  ran  to  pick  it  up  ;  but 
the  Marquis's  sow  with  her  litter  also  saw  it  at 
the  same  time,  and  ran  as  quick  as  I  did.  The 
swine-herd,  a  cruel  fellow,  when  he  saw  me 
stretch  out  my  arm  gave  me  such  a  whack 
with  his  stick  that  he  took  away  my  breath. 
I  left  the  cabbage-stalk  to  the  pigs  and  ran  as 
hard  as  I  could  run,  for  the  brute  would  have 
beaten  me  to  a  jelly;  and  as  1  made  off  I  heard 
the  Marquis  calling  from  his  window:  "Well 


In  the  Bab  ©ifc  Simes.  13 

done!  Well  done!  What  is  that  little  rascal 
doing  there  ?  Does  he  want  to  take  the  food 
out  of  the  mouths  of  my  pigs  ?  Vermin  that 
they  are,  those  peasants !  If  they  could  but  get 
at  us,  they  would  eat  us  up  alive!  " 

That  day  another  great  drop  of  bitterness 
fell  into  my  heart. 

So,  too,  when  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  Ma- 
dame le  Marquise  and  Monsieur  Robert,  their 
son — who  was  Cavalier  du  Roy — chanced  one 
day  to  pass  before  our  hut  and  I  saw  my  old 
father  and  my  old  mother  kneel  down  on  the 
threshold,  just  as  if  the  Host  were  going  by, 
shame  devoured  me;  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  red 
hot  iron  were  pressing  into  the  pit  of  my  stom- 
ach— it  hurt  me  so  to  keep  back  my  rage. 

"You  wretched  boy,"  called  out  my  father 
as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  "  the  next  time  I'll 
take  good  care  that  you  kneel  to  our  kind  mas- 
ter!"; and  to  know  how  good  and  how  sim- 
ple my  father  was  made  the  fire,  not  of  God, 
burn  the  more  fiercely  within  me. 

The  only  one  of  those  living  in  the  Chateau 
whom  I  could  look  upon  with  pleasure  and 
salute  with  respect  was  little  Adeline,  the 
young  lady  who  gave  me  the  piece  of  white 
bread.  She  had  gentle  eyes,  and  smiled  at  me 
each  time  that  we  chanced  to  meet.  But  as 


14  ®l)e  ftcbs  of  tlje  ifliM. 

she  grew  up  it  seemed  to  me  that  little  by  little 
her  smiles  grew  fainter.  Her  eyes,  I  know, 
were  just  as  gentle,  only  I  dared  not  look  at 
her  any  more. 

One  November  evening  during  All  Saint's 
week,  while  we  were  in  our  hut  around  a  pot 
of  dried  beans — the  last  left  from  our  store  for 
the  year — my  father  said:  ''To-morrow,  son, 
we  must  begin  to  gather  our  acorns  in  the 
Nesque  for  the  winter.  Times  are  going  to  be 
hard  with  us.  I  don't  know  all  that  is  taking 
place,  but  I  have  been  told  that  in  Avignon 
people  are  killing  each  other  off  like  flies;  and 
there  is  the  Revolution  in  Paris,  and  Monsieur 
le  Marquis  and  all  the  family  are  going  to  help 
the  King  of  France,  who  is  in  great  danger." 

This  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  of  the 
King  of  France,  but  instantly  the  thought  came 
to  me:  "  If  I  could  only  fight  him,  this  King  of 
France  whom  the  Marquis  is  going  to  defend!  " 
How  old  was  I  then  ?  I  don't  know.  I  never 
knew  exactly — the  records  of  baptism,  you 
see,  were  burned;  but  I  must  have  been  thir- 
teen, perhaps  fourteen  years  old.  Certainly, 
my  father's  words  astonished  me — but  as 
much,  perhaps,  by  their  number  as  by  what 
he  told.  He  always  had  a  short  tongue,  poor 
man. 


0Mb  ®imes.  15 


The  next  morning  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
the  King  of  France  when,  before  day-break,  we 
started  to  gather  our  harvest  of  acorns.  It  was 
fearful  weather.  The  ground  was  frozen  two 
spans  deep;  a  cutting  wind  was  blowing; 
from  time  to  time  snow-squalls  burst  out  of 
the  sullen  sky.  The  dawn  was  just  breaking 
when  we  reached  the  ravine  of  the  Nesque, 
bordered  by  great  oaks:  through  which  the 
wind  blew  sharply  and  tossed  hither  and 
thither  their  leaves  —  that  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  turned  into  red  copper  by  the  cold.  Ex- 
cepting the  red  oak-leaves,  everything  on  the 
earth  and  above  it  was  grey.  The  sky  was 
one  mass  of  even  grey  cloud,  stretching  from 
east  to  west  just  like  a  piece  of  grey  felt. 
Flocks  of  linnets,  red-breasts,  yellow-hammers, 
and  other  little  birds  came  down  from  the 
mountains  —  flying  close  to  the  ground  or,  with 
feathers  all  fluffed  up,  huddling  together  in  the 
stubble  or  bushes.  When  the  poor  little  things 
act  that  way,  it  always  is  bitter  cold. 

Let  any  one  try  to  gather  acorns  in  cold 
weather  with  numb  hands!  Among  the  peb- 
bles in  the  dry  bed  of  the  river  the  shining 
acorns,  no  bigger  than  olives,  so  slide  and  slip 
through  your  fingers  that  it  takes  a  whole  big 
half  day  to  gather  two  pecks  of  them.  My 
3 


1 6  iEtje  ttebs  of  tlje  iflibi. 

poor  father,  I  can  see  him  now !  As  he  crouched 
down  and  leaned  forward  he  left  between  his 
skimpy  greenish  stuff-jacket  and  his  buckled 
breeches  a  great  gap,  where  the  sharp  edge  of 
his  lean  spine  showed  plainly  through  his 
coarse  worn-out  shirt;  and  his  rough  woollen 
stockings  were  full  of  holes,  and  so  worn  off 
at  the  heels  that  his  feet  were  naked  in  his 
wooden  shoes  stuffed  with  dry  grass. 

The  furious  cold  wind,  which  whipped 
about  and  whirled  the  copper-red  leaves, 
whistled  in  the  osiers ;  and  in  the  hollows  of 
the  rocks  it  howled  and  roared  like  some  great 
fearful  horn.  I  hugged  myself  close,  my  skin 
all  cracked  with  the  cold,  and  thought  of  the 
good  time  to  come  when,  sheltered  behind  a 
rock,  we  could  eat,  with  our  hunger  for  a 
sauce,  the  hard  nubbin  of  black  bread  which 
my  father  that  morning  had  chopped  off  for  us 
on  the  block  with  the  big  axe. 

We  were  working  hard  in  silence — for  the 
very  poor  never  have  much  to  say — when  all 
of  a  sudden  I  heard  the  hounds  of  the  Marquis 
in  full  cry.  They  were  at  the  other  end  of  the 
ravine,  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain.  I  jumped 
up  and  stared  with  all  my  might.  When  one 
is  young  there  is  nothing  so  delightful  as  to  see 
a  hare  chased  by  a  pack  of  dogs.  I  saw  them 


In  fye  JBab  <2M&  ffiimes.  17 

a  long,  long  way  off:  the  hare,  light  as  smoke, 
was  far  ahead.  From  time  to  time  she  would 
squat  on  her  haunches,  listening,  and  then 
would  be  off  again ;  and  at  last  I  saw  her  run 
down  toward  the  dry  bed  of  the  stream.  The 
hounds,  in  full  cry,  came  tearing  after  her. ' 
When  they  over-ran  the  scent,  they  quickly 
tried  back  and  found  it  again.  Where  the 
hare  had  stopped  to  listen,  they  snuffed  around 
and  yelped  the  louder.  The  pack  was  spread 
all  across  the  slope.  In  front  were  the  large 
black-and-tan  hounds,  their  ears  a  span  long, 
who  easily  over-leapt  bushes  and  openings  in 
the  ground.  Then  came  the  smaller  and 
heavier  dogs,  slower  but  surer.  Then,  away 
behind  the  rest,  the  beagles  with  their  short 
sharp  cry — good  beasts  for  taking  the  hare  in 
her  form,  but  slow-going,  because  their  little 
twisted  legs  are  no  good  for  jumping  and  they 
have  to  go  round  even  the  bunches  of  wild 
thyme. 

I  held  my  breath,  for  the  hare  was  almost 
on  us  and  was  going  to  pass  right  in  front  of 
me.  But  just  as  I  picked  up  a  stone — sbisto ! 
she  saw  me!  She  doubled  like  a  flash,  with 
one  spring  she  was  over  the  Nesque,  and  with 
another  she  was  up  the  mountain  side  and  safe 
in  the  woods — so  good-bye  to  my  hare !  The 


i8  &!)<>  Rebs  of  the  HUM. 

dogs  came  on  quickly,  overrunning  the  scent 
at  the  point  where  she  had  doubled,  but  pick- 
ing it  up  again  in  no  time.  And  then  the 
whole  pack  in  full  cry  swept  on  down  the  hill- 
side until  they  were  lost  in  the  forest  far  off 
among  the  ravines,  and  only  their  cry  came 
ringing  back  to  us  faintly  from  the  distance. 

My  father  had  not  noticed  any  part  of  all 
this.  Without  even  lifting  his  head  he  had 
kept  on  gathering  the  acorns  with  his  stiff  fin- 
gers. As  I  still  stood  there,  open-mouthed, 
all  of  a  sudden  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain 
behind  me  I  heard  a  noise  of  rolling  stones.  I 
turned  and  saw  Monsieur  Robert,  the  Cavalier 
du  Roy,  running  down  toward  us;  holding  in 
one  hand  his  dog-whip  and  in  the  other  his 
gun.  He  rushed  down  on  us  like  a  wounded 
wild  boar— it  is  the  only  thing  I  can  think  or 
as  savage  as  he  was  then !  My  poor  father  at 
once  dropped  down  on  his  knees  to  him,  as 
was  the  peasant  habit  of  those  times;  but  the 
brute,  without  a  word,  gave  him  such  a  blow 
across  the  face  with  his  dog-whip  that  he 
knocked  him  to  the  ground.  Seeing  this, 
I  ran  to  the  side  of  the  ravine  and,  kicking 
off  my  sabots,  began  to  climb  up  the  rocks 
— clinging  with  my  hands  and  with  my  feet 
too.  I  heard  every  blow  that  lashed  my  poor 


Jfn  ttye  Baft  ®lb  ®ime0.  19 

father,  and  I  heard  the  brute  calling  out  to 
him :  ' '  Dirty  beast  of  a  peasant !  I'll  teach  you 
to  spoil  my  hunting!  " — and  then  more  blows. 

In  the  mean  time  the  game-keeper  had 
come  up:  a  huge  man  who  could  only  speak 
very  bad  French.  Folks  said  he  was  a  German. 
He  had  a  name  no  one  could  say — a  Dutch 
name  fit  to  drive  you  out  of  the  house — and, 
as  he  had  to  be  called  something,  we  called 
him  Surto.  This  beast  also  began  to  hammer 
my  poor  father,  who  was  writhing  on  the 
ground  like  a  half  crushed  worm. 

I  had  stopped  on  a  high  rock  from  which  I 
could  see  the  two  monsters  at  their  cruel  work. 
I  picked  up  a  stone  as  big  as  my  head  and 
threw  it.  The  stone  whistled  through  the  air, 
just  brushing  against  the  game-keeper's  ear, 
and  fell  hard  and  heavy  on  Monsieur  Robert's 
toes. 

"Ai'e!"  he  yelled,  and  turning  saw  me. 
Off  went  both  barrels  of  his  gun.  The  shot 
whizzed  round  me,  but  I  plunged  into  the 
wood — and  then  it  was:  Catch  me  who  can! 

I  was  only  a  child — but  I  understood  my 
danger.  I  hid  myself  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods  and  did  not  dare  go  back  home.  Shiv- 
ering, almost  dead  with  the  cold,  1  ate  my  bit 
of  bread  crouching  in  a  thicket  and  a  little  shel- 


20  ®l)e  ftebs  of  lljc 


tered  behind  a  rock.  The  bread  was  so  hard 
that  I  had  to  break  it  with  a  stone.  I  softened 
it  with  my  tears;  for  while  eating  it  I  was 
thinking  of  my  father  as  I  had  seen  him  with 
his  face  all  covered  with  blood,  and  dreading 
that  he  had  been  killed.  And  my  mother, 
what  would  she  think  when  I  did  not  come 
back  to  the  hut  ?  And  when  she  saw  her  poor 
man,  her  Pascal,  crushed  and  bleeding  ? 
"Ah!"  sighed  I,  looking  at  the  stone  I  held, 
"Ah,  how  happy  this  stone  is.  How  I  would 
like  to  be  this  stone,  for  then  I  would  not  suffer 
any  more  "  —  and  my  heart  hurt  me  as  if  it  was 
cut  with  a  knife. 

Twilight  was  coming  on.  In  winter  it  does 
not  last  long;  the  night  comes  all  at  once. 
The  wind  blew  sharper  and  sharper.  Far  off 
on  the  edge  of  the  sky  a  long  red  line  streaked 
the  grey  clouds  and  showed  that  the  sun  was 
setting.  Then  the  sky  and  plains  and  moun- 
tains, which  all  day  long  had  been  dull  grey, 
turned  to  a  violet;  while  the  trees  and  the 
naked  bushes  and  the  rocks  took  on  a  reddish 
tone.  The  wind  dropped  a  moment,  paying 
honour  to  the  setting  sun  ;  a  fox  barked  on  the 
opposite  slope  —  and  then  suddenly  all  was 
dark. 

I  ventured  out  of  my  lair  and  climbed  the 


In  tlje  Bab  (33H&  ®imee.  21 

bushy  side  of  the  ravine.  Just  as  I  reached  the 
top,  brrrou !  a  covey  of  partridges  flew  off  from 
right  under  my  feet  with  a  sound  like  a  load  of 
cobblestones  tumbling  out  of  a  cart.  The  start 
they  gave  me  was  soon  over;  and  then,  shiv- 
ering and  blue  with  the  cold,  I  went  down 
into  the  plain. 

At  almost  every  step  I  halted  and  looked 
around.  The  smallest  rock,  a  tuft  of  thyme,  a 
live-oak  bush,  seemed  a  crouching  man  on  the 
outlook — perhaps  Surto  with  his  gun !'  I  was 
more  afraid  of  that  man  than  of  all  the  wolves 
on  the  mountains  put  together.  Although  the 
wind  still  roared  and  howled,  the  stones  rattling 
under  my  feet  seemed  to  me  to  make  a  tremen- 
dous noise.  The  night  was  very  dark — not  a 
star  to  be  seen ;  the  dull  grey  sky  still  spread 
over  everything.  Yet  I  could  see  pretty  well 
around  me.  We  the  poor,  the  very  poor,  can 
see  in  the  dark.  The  flocks  were  all  in  their 
folds,  it  was  so  cold.  But  as  1  went  along  the 
slope  above  the  Nesque,  not  far  above  the  Cha- 
teau, it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  hear  the 
pigs  grunting;  and  I  certainly  could  see  the 
light  carried  by  the  swine-herd — so  it  must 
have  been  about  pig-feeding  time. 

I  had  but  a  few  steps  more  to  take  in  order 
to  reach  the  high  rock  from  which  1  had  thrown 


Hefts  of  tlje  ittibi. 


the  stone  at  Monsieur  Robert.  I  was  burning 
to  get  there,  that  I  might  know  whether  or  not 
my  father  was  lying  dead  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ravine,  beaten  to  death  by  those  two  beasts. 
I  walked  softly  along,  but  the  little  stones  still 
made  too  much  noise  under  my  feet  and  I  got 
down  and  crawled  silently  on  all  fours.  I 
reached  the  overhang  of  the  rock  and  craned 
over  into  the  ravine.  I  stared  and  stared  until 
I  could  see  no  more,  but  all  that  I  could  make 
out  was  a  long  black  line  and  a  long  white  line 
coasting  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  The  giant 
oaks  which  bordered  the  Nesque  made  the 
black  line,  and  the  white  line  was  the  dry  bed 
of  the  watercourse  with  its  smooth  white 
stones. 

When  I  was  quite  certain  that  my  father 
was  not  lying  there,  to  be  food  for  the  wolves, 
I  drew  softly  back  on  hands  and  knees.  Still 
filled  with  dread,  I  went  down  into  the  ravine 
through  the  holly  and  thorny  scrub-oak  bushes ; 
pushing  through  the  thickets,  for  I  did  not 
want  to  follow  any  beaten  path  to  the  Nesque. 
I  was  afraid  of  that  great  monster  of  a  game- 
keeper who  somewhere,  I  was  sure,  was 
watching  for  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  fox — and  I 
thought  that  the  whistling  of  the  wind  and 
the  rattling  of  the  whirling  leaves  would  keep 


In  th.e  Bab  (2Mb  ®imes.  23 

any  one  from  hearing  the  noise  of  the  holly 
and  the  thorny  oak  bushes  which  caught  hold 
of  me,  and  of  the  stones  which  rattled  down 
under  my  feet. 

When  I  reached  the  border  of  the  Nesque 
I  looked  out  between  two  tufts  of  bushes  to 
right  and  to  left,  but  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  out  of  the  way.  And,  what  gave 
me  still  more  comfort,  lying  there  where  I  had 
kicked  them  off,  so  that  I  might  run  the  faster, 
were  my  sabots !  Then — believe  me  or  no  as 
best  pleases  you — in  order  to  give  myself  cour- 
age, I  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  my 
breast  and  said  the  only  prayer  my  mother  had 
taught  me : 

Great  Saint  John  of  the  golden  mouth 

Watch  over  the  sleeping  child. 

From  harm  protect  him  should  he  go 

To  play  around  the  pond. 

In  forests,  too,  take  care  of  him 

Against  the  tooth  of  wolf. 

Forever  and  ever  be  it  so, 

Fair  Saint  John  who  hast  all  my  heart. 

— and  then  I  felt  that  I  would  be  cared  for  and 
was  safe! 

With  one  spring  I  reached  and  put  on  my 
sabots,  and  then  flew  like  lightning  through 
the  stubble  and  brush  and  climbed  steep  slopes 


24  ®t)e  ftefcs  of  tlje  BUM. 

like  a  lizard.  I  slipped  through  the  olive- 
orchards;  carefully  keeping  away  from  the 
paths,  and  as  far  as  I  could  from  the  Chateau— 
the  gleaming  windows  of  which  I  could  see 
on  the  heights  above.  Suddenly  all  the  dogs 
at  the  Chateau  began  to  bark  together,  and  as  I 
feared  that  they  had  heard  or  scented  me  I 
went  off  still  farther  over  the  hills  of  the  En- 
garroui'nes — so  that  I  might  be  quite  safe  from 
the  game-keeper,  outside  the  lines  of  the  estate. 

But  our  hut  still  was  far  away,  and  I  knew 
that  if  I  went  there  I  should  be  caught;  if  not 
that  night,  certainly  the  next  day.  Still  I  longed 
to  see  my  father,  to  comfort  my  mother.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  could  hear  her  calling  me — 
"  Pascalet!  Pascalet !  " 

In  spite  of  the  dark  night,  my  eyes  could 
make  out  far  off  on  the  hill  of  La  Garde  some- 
thing black  between  the  woods  and  the  olive- 
orchards;  something  that  looked  like  a  heap  of 
stones.  It  was  our  forlorn  hut — laid  up  of 
stones  without  mortar  and  roofed  with  stone 
slabs.  In  my  heart  I  seemed  to  see  inside  of  it 
our  one  room,  our  oat-straw  beds,  the  pot 
hanging  by  its  pot-hooks  and  chain  from  the 
beam,  the  big  block  behind  the  door  on  which 
my  father  chopped  the  bread  and  which  also 
was  our  table.  I  longed  for  our  little  hut  and 


In  tljc  JJair  <2M&  ®ime0.  25 

all  in  it;  but  fear,  my  great  fear  of  the  game- 
keeper, for  a  long  while  held  me  still. 

At  last  I  was  able  to  screw  up  my  courage 
and  go  on.  Keeping  out  of  the  path,  and 
taking  a  big  stone  in  each  hand,  I  went  for- 
ward slowly  and  step  by  step.  Now  and  then 
I  stopped  and  listened.  Feeling  my  way,  dodg- 
ing from  one  stone  wall  to  another,  1  got  at 
last  behind  the  hut.  Softly  I  crept  up  to  the 
hole  stuffed  with  grass  that  served  us  for  a 
window,  and  pushing  in  the  grass  and  leaning 
my  head  forward  I  called:  "  Mother!  mother!  " 

No  one  answered — there  was  no  one  there ! 

Then  my  blood  grew  cold  within  me.  I 
thought  that  both  my  father  and  my  mother  had 
been  killed.  I  ran  round  to  the  door  of  the  hut. 
It  was  wide  open.  The  game-keeper  was  noth- 
ing to  me  then !  I  called  out  at  the  top  of  my 
voice:  "Mother!  Father!  Where  are  you? 
It  is  your  Pascalet!  " — and  my  sorrow  so  hurt 
me  that  I  rolled  on  the  ground  in  such  a  pas- 
sion of  crying  as  I  never  before  had  known. 

For  more  than  an  hour  I  lay  there  while  I 
sobbed  and  groaned.  At  last,  tired  out,  des- 
perate, raging  because  I  was  too  weak  to  re- 
venge myself  against  those  who  had  caused 
my  bitter  pain,  I  got  on  my  feet  again — while 
a  dark  thought  came  into  my  mind.  The  pond, 


26  ®l)c  Hebs  of  tlje 


the  big  pond  that  watered  all  the  fields  of  the 
Chateau,  was  before  me  among  the  olive  trees. 
Only  a  month  before  I  had  seen  the  body  of 
pretty  Agatha  of  Malemort  drawn  out  of  its 
waters  —  a  girl,  not  twenty  years  old,  who  had 
drowned  herself  there  because  of  some  trouble 
I  could  not  understand.  1  ran  off  as  if  crazy, 
my  arms  spread  wide  open  as  though  to  em- 
brace some  one;  and  when,  through  the  trees, 
I  saw  the  pond  glittering  I  thought  I  saw  Para- 
dise. As  I  came  within  a  few  steps  of  the 
edge  I  closed  my  eyes,  took  three  jumps,  one 
after  the  other  and  —  pataflou!  I  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  pond! 

Pascal  stopped,  yawned,  and  stretched  him- 
self. "Well,  it's  getting  late  —  and  I  haven't 
yet  watered  the  mule.  I'll  tell  you  the  rest  to- 
morrow. Right  about  face!  March!"  —  and 
he  was  off. 

As  I  walked  home  beside  my  grandfather, 
holding  his  hand,  I  asked  him:  "But  Pascal 
didn't  really  drown  himself,  did  he?" 

"  Have  patience,  little  one,"  my  grandfather 
answered.  "To-morrow  we  shall  know." 


CHAPTER   II. 

DEATH  OR   SLAVERY. 

THE  next  night  I  ate  my  supper  on  both 
sides  of  my  mouth  at  once — bolting  my  chest- 
nuts and  porridge,  and  all  the  while  in  fear 
that  I  might  be  late  at  the  cobbler's  shop  and 
so  lose  even  a  single  one  of  Pascal's  words. 
And  while  I  was  gobbling  I  kept  saying  to 
myself:  "Suppose  Pascal  should  choose  this 
evening  to  take  his  olives  to  the  mill,  and  should 
leave  us  all  gaping  with  no  story  at  all!  " 

With  my  mouth  still  full,  I  got  up  from  the 
table  and  went  to  the  cupboard  where  my 
grandfather's  lantern  was  kept  and  brought  it 
to  him  ready  lighted  for  our  start.  "Well," 
said  he,  "you  are  in  a  hurry,  mankin." 

"Oh,  do  come  grandfather.  Perhaps  Pas- 
cal already  has  begun !  "  I  cried  beseechingly, 
and  at  the  same  time  pulled  him  by  the  hand. 
But  there  was  no  need  for  beseeching,  the  good 
old  man  would  have  let  me  drag  him  any- 
where; he  refused  me  nothing.  When  I  think 

27 


28  $i)e  ftete  of  tl)e  ittibi. 

of  him,  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes.  In  a 
moment  we  were  off,  and  we  reached  the 
cobbler's  just  as  Pascal  was  stepping  over  the 
threshold. 

The  three  of  us  went  in  together.  Al- 
ready the  shop  was  nearly  full.  Pipes  were 
getting  loaded,  ready  to  be  balanced  in  turn 
for  lighting  over  the  smoky  lamp:  beside 
which,  like  two  little  golden  suns,  hung  the 
shining  wholes.  The  lively  heat  of  the  stove 
in  the  close  room — tight  shut  all  day  long — 
with  its  smell  of  stale  tobacco-smoke  mingled 
with  the  smells  of  shoemaker's  wax  and  wet 
leather,  made  an  atmosphere  so  pungent  that 
it  fairly  hurt  one's  nose;  but  it  grew  better 
when  Lou  Materoun  and  the  rest  lighted  their 
pipes — each  charged  at  the  top  with  a  scrap  ot 
fragrant  amadou,  that  the  fire  might  catch 
easily — and  so  gave  us  a  fresh  smell  of  burning 
that  drowned  out  all  the  old  smells  of  dead 
tobacco-smoke  and  wax  and  tan-bark  and 
greasy  leather  thongs. 

The  shoemaker  and  his  apprentice  were 
hammering  away  at  a  pair  of  soles.  They 
were  hurrying:  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they 
wanted  to  get  done  with  their  noisy  lap-stone 
work  and  so  clear  the  way  for  the  story  to  go 
on.  Under  the  blows  of  the  mushroom-headed 


or  SlatJorg.  29 


hammers  the  soles  curled  up  and  became  dark 
and  shiny.  With  his  big  black  thumb,  all 
dotted  with  pricks  from  his  awl,  the  shoemaker 
turned  and  returned  the  leather  on  his  lap- 
stone;  and  presently  the  work  was  done.  I 
was  getting  very  restless.  I  looked  in  the 
bucket  under  the  table  to  see  if  there  were  any 
more  soles  to  be  pounded  ;  but  in  the  bucket, 
full  of  dark  water,  there  were  only  a  few  stray 
scraps  of  leather  —  the  pounding  was  at  an  end. 

I  couldn't  hold  my  tongue  any  longer;  and 
I,  who  always  kept  quiet,  said  quite  boldly: 
"  Pascal,  how  did  you  get  out  of  the  pond  ?" 

And  Pascal,  who  was  only  waiting  to  be 
started,  leaned  forward  a  little  and  immediately 
began  : 

Well,  my  big  jump  ended  in  my  sitting 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  pond  with  a  smack 
that  made  me  tingle  with  pain,  and  with  a 
shock  that  went  all  up  through  me  to  the  very 
roots  of  my  hair  —  for  the  pond  was  frozen  as 
hard  as  a  stone!  Hurt  and  half  stunned,  I 
crawled  as  well  as  I  could  toward  the  frozen 
bank;  and  there,  in  a  sort  of  dazed  misery,  I 
sat  down  on  the  cold  ground.  What  would 
become  of  me,  what  could  I  do  ?  I  was  father- 
less, motherless,  homeless,  left  all  alone  in  the 


30  ®l)e  ftebs  of  H)e  HUM. 

fields  of  a  cold  winter  night.  The  only  idea 
in  my  poor  little  head  was  that  the  one  road 
out  of  my  trouble  was  to  die.  I  might  go  to 
the  wolves  in  the  mountains,  or  to  Surto  and 
the  wicked  Monsieur  Robert  at  the  Chateau — 
in  either  way  the  wild  beasts  would  kill  me, 
and  I  would  be  quit  of  my  sorrow  and  pain. 

But  suddenly  a  good  thought  came  to  me. 
I  remembered  that  the  only  time  I  had  gone  to 
be  catechised  Monsieur  le  Cure  had  said  to  us : 
"My  children,  never  forget  that  God  is  your 
father.  When  you  are  in  trouble  or  pain  or 
poverty,  or  when  you  are  nigh  unto  death, 
pray  to  him  and  he  will  listen  unto  you.  And 
go  often  and  see  him  in  his  own  house,  which 
is  the  church.  Go  there  just  as  you  would  to 
some  kind  and  charitable  neighbour's  house. 
You  will  see  that  he  will  help  you." 

The  remembrance  of  these  promises  came 
back  to  me,  though  for  three  years  I  had 
never  thought  of  them ;  and  I  got  up,  greatly 
comforted.  I  had  often  met  Monsieur  le  Cure 
— or  Monsieur  le  Prieur,  as  we  called  him  in 
my  day — on  the  road  to  the  Chateau  de  la 
Garde.  But  because  he  went  there  to  visit  the 
Marquis  d'Ambrun  that  did  not  make  him  at 
all  the  same  sort  of  man  as  the  Marquis.  He 
spoke  kindly  to  every  one.  He  even  shook 


or      nuerB.  31 


my  father's  hand  when  he  met  him,  and  would 
ask  after  his  wife  La  Patine  and  after  little  Pas- 
calet.  He  laughed,  he  joked  with  the  poorest 
of  us.  Oh,  he  was  good  dough  well  baked, 
that  man  —  good  all  the  way  through. 

As  I  went  down  toward  the  village  of 
Malemort  in  the  cold  darkness,  whipped  cruelly 
by  the  freezing  wind,  I  seemed  to  see  quite 
plainly  our  good  Monsieur  Randoulet:  his  kind 
face,  his  grey  eyes,  his  long  white  hair  curling 
on  his  shoulders,  his  fine  delicate  hands,  his 
gown  so  long  that  the  hem  always  was  hitting 
against  his  heels,  his  black  stockings,  and  his 
shoes  with  their  silver  buckles;  and  in  my  ears 
seemed  to  sound  kind  words  spoken  in  his 
womanly-gentle  voice.  Of  all  the  people  who 
came  to  the  Chateau  he  was  the  only  one  who 
did  not  frighten  me.  He  was  the  only  one 
who,  when  I  saluted  him  took  off  his  hat  to 
me,  saying:  "Good-day,  little  man." 

It  must  have  been  about  midnight  when  I 
entered  the  village.  No  one  was  in  the  streets, 
no  lights  were  in  the  windows;  and  the  only 
noises  were  the  roaring  of  the  wind,  and  now 
and  then  the  banging  of  a  badly  fastened  shut- 
ter, and  the  endless  murmur  of  water  spirting 
from  the  fountain  into  the  shell-shaped  trough 
all  hung  with  icicles. 
4 


32  (Elje  Eefcs  of  tlje  iflibi. 

I  went  on  quickly  through  the  lonely  streets, 
straight  to  the  Curacy  beside  the  church.  But 
when  I  found  myself  in  front  of  Monsieur 
Randoulet's  door  I  began  to  get  frightened 
again.  Would  he  speak  harshly  to  me  ? 
Would  he  take  me  back  to  the  Chateau  ? 
Would  he  give  me  again  to  Surto?  No  (I 
answered  back  to  myself,  reassuringly),  he 
would  not  do  these  things.  Monsieur  Randou- 
let  always  had  smiled  when  he  spoke  to  me. 
Kindness  always  shone  upon  his  face.  He 
was  good,  he  could  not  do  evil.  Surely  he 
would  protect  me  instead  of  betraying  me: 
and  I  raised  the  knocker  thrice  and  let  it  fall 
again — one!  two!  three! 

And  then  I  began  to  tremble,  in  dread  that 
I  had  knocked  too  hard.  I  waited,  listening. 
Nothing  stirred  in  the  Curacy.  I  went  back 
along  the  church  wall  and  peered  up  at  all  the 
windows,  but  all  were  tightly  closed  and  dark. 
I  went  again  to  the  door,  again  lifted  up  the 
knocker,  waited  again  a  moment  and  then — 
one!  two!  I  did  not  dare  knock  the  third 
time.  In  a  minute  I  heard  the  voice  of  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  calling:  "Janetoun!  Janetoun! 
I  think  I  hear  some  one  knocking;"  and  of 
Janetoun  answering  him  from  the  upper  story: 
"Monsieur  is  mistaken — it  is  only  a  shutter 


or      aoerij.  33 


rattling  in  the  wind."  Then  I  knocked  three 
times,  boldly;  and  straightway  I  heard  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure  calling:  "I  told  you  so  —  go  see 
what  it  is." 

Presently  I  saw  a  light  in  a  window  far  up 
under  the  tiles;  and  then  I  heard  the  click- 
clack  of  Janetoun's  wooden  shoes  as  she  came 
down  the  stairs.  I  heard  her  hand  on  the  lock; 
but  before  she  opened  the  door  she  called: 
"  Who's  there  ?" 

"  It's  me,"  I  answered. 

"But  who  are  you?"  she  called  again; 
and  I  answered  her:  "It's  Pascalet  de  la 
Ratine." 

Hardly  had  I  finished  saying  my  name  when 
the  door  opened  and  my  eyes  were  dazzled  by 
the  flash  of  light  from  the  lamp  which  Janet- 
oun  carried  in  her  hand;  and  as  I  stepped  into 
the  doorway  she  said  crossly:  "Monsieur  le 
Cure  is  abed  and  asleep  —  and  if  he  wasn't 
he  couldn't  go  running  through  the  streets  in 
all  this  cold.  What  do  you  want  with  him  ? 
Speak  up!  What  do  you  want  here  at  this 
time  of  night,  anyway  ?" 

She  shut  the  door  behind  me,  for  it  truly 
was  bitter  cold,  and  went  up  around  the  turn 
of  the  spiral  stairs  so  as  to  get  out  of  the 
draught;  and  there  stood  facing  me,  waiting 


34  &!)£  ftebs  0f 


for  my  answer.  But  her  sharp  words  had  so 
upset  me  that  I  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
At  last,  shaking  with  cold  and  fear,  I  managed 
to  stammer  out:  "I  want  to  see  him." 

"You  want  to  see  him!  You  want  to  see 
him!  Good  gracious,  what  a  box  of  impu- 
dence! Don't  you  know  better  than  to  come 
routing  people  up  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing in  winter  weather  like  this  ?  And  don't 
you  know  that  it  is  only  a  death-call  that  would 
take  Monsieur  le  Cure  out  on  such  a  night  and 
at  such  an  hour  ?  Aren't  the  days  long  enough 
for  you  ?  Come  when  it  is  day." 

As  she  spoke,  Janetoun  came  down  the 
stairs  —  up  which  I  had  crept  a  step  or  two  —  to 
send  me  into  the  street  again.  But  Monsieur 
le  Cure  had  heard  all  our  talk,  luckily,  and  from 
above  called  out  to  her:  "Let  little  Pascalet 
come  up  —  and  start  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  so  that 
he  may  warm  himself.  I  wish  it  so." 

Janetoun  stopped  grumbling,  and  her  sabots 
went  clattering  up  the  stair-case  and  I  followed 
her.  We  entered  the  kitchen,  still  warm  from 
the  fire  of  the  night  before,  and  still  full  of  the 
smell  of  the  sauces  of  Monsieur  le  Cure's  sup- 
per. This  alone  was  enough  to  comfort  my 
poor  stomach  —  as  empty  as  a  clapperless  bell! 
How  good  Monsieur  le  Cure's  stews  must  be! 


UDeatl)  or  Slaoerg.  35 

I  thought — for  the  smells  were  like  those  which 
came  to  me  when  I  passed  by  the  kitchen  at 
the  Chateau.  And  it  was  still  better  when  Ja- 
netoun,  with  her  face  nearly  an  extra  span  long 
for  vexation,  broke  some  light  wood  across  her 
knee  and  filled  the  fire-place  with  it  and  soon 
had  a  fine  white  crackling  blaze.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  had  got  into  Paradise ! 

Presently  I  heard  the  soft  flip-flop  of  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet's  slippers.  But  when  he  came 
into  the  kitchen,  muffled  up  in  his  long  wrap- 
per and  with  a  blue-checked  handkerchief  tied 
around  his  head,  I  did  not  know  him — until 
he  spoke  to  me  with  his  gentle  womanly  voice. 
Then  there  was  no  mistaking  him.  It  was  in- 
deed good  kind  Monsieur  Randoulet  himself. 

' '  Is  it  thou,  Pascalet  ?  "  he  said.  ' '  Thou  art 
a  good  boy,  and  thou  hast  done  exactly  right 
in  coming  here.  Do  not  be  afraid,  I  will  take 
thee  to  see  thy  father.  He  is  badly  hurt,  but 
he  will  get  over  it."  And  as  he  spoke  he 
stroked  my  cheeks  with  his  soft  hand  and  drew 
me  gently  to  his  side. 

I  was  filled  with  wonder.  1  had  not  even 
opened  my  mouth,  and  yet  Monsieur  le  Cure 
knew  all  that  I  desired. 

"Where  is  my  father,  monsieur?"  I  ven- 
tured to  ask. 


36  ®t)e  Be&s  of  fye  ittibi. 

"  He  is  in  the  hospital,  where  your  mother 
is  caring  for  him.  I  will  take  you  to  them 
in  the  morning — this  is  not  the  time.  1  am 
sure  you  have  not  eaten  anything  to-day. 
Janetoun,  isn't  there  something  in  the  cup- 
board ?  " 

"What  can  there  be  ?"  Janetoun  answered 
sulkily;  and  as  she  opened  the  cupboard  she 
added:  "There  is  nothing  at  all  but  a  stuffed 
tomato." 

As  she  said  this  she  put  on  the  table  a  little 
stew-pan  in  which  was  a  tomato  as  big  as  my 
fist  and  browned  like  a  pie.  Just  to  look  at  it 
made  my  mouth  water! 

"Would  you  like  that?"  asked  Monsieur 
Randoulet.  "Go  ahead,  then,  and  eat  it.  Don't 
be  afraid.  Eat  it  out  of  the  pan — here  is  a 
good  piece  of  bread — and  afterwards  you  shall 
have  a  good  cup  of  wine  and  go  to  bed.  When 
day-time  comes  I  will  take  you  to  see  your 
father  in  the  hospital." 

To  know  that  my  father  was  not  dead,  that 
my  mother  was  taking  care  of  him,  that  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  would  stand  between  me  and 
Surto — to  know  all  that  made  me  so  happy 
that  I  felt  sick.  When  I  tried  to  eat  I  could 
not  manage  it.  My  gullet  was  all  drawn  to- 
gether, my  mouth  was  dry;  and  my  heart  still 


or  Slaters.  37 


was  so  full  of  the  dismal  fear  of  that  dreadful 
day  that  there  was  no  room  in  it  for  my 
joy.  I  felt  queer  in  my  inside,  and  my  legs 
got  weak  under  me  and  my  head  swam. 
Monsieur  le  Cure  saw  what  was  the  matter. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "start  your  appetite  with 
this  glass  of  wine,"  and  he  poured  two  fingers  of 
red  wine  into  a  beautiful  glass  cup  that  tinkled 
like  a  bell  and  that  had  a  foot  like  the  chalice 
used  in  the  mass.  You  may  be  sure  I  made 
no  bones  about  swallowing  it  down.  Friends, 
that  was  wine  !  In  an  instant  I  no  longer  was 
the  same  boy.  I  bit  into  my  bread  and  began 
to  cram  my  hollow  inside  —  my  jaws  going 
like  a  sausage-chopper. 

And  I  no  longer  was  afraid.  I  talked  to 
Monsieur  le  Cure  as  I  would  have  talked  to  a 
boy  of  my  own  age.  I  told  him  all  that  had 
happened  that  day  —  the  coming  of  the  hare, 
my  poor  father's  beating,  the  flinging  of  the 
stone,  my  day  in  hiding,  and  at  last  of  my  leap 
into  the  pond.  As  he  listened  to  me,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure  sat  down  in  front  of  the  fire  and 
warmed  himself,  his  arms  half  raised  and  his 
hands  out-spread  to  the  flames  as  he  used  to 
hold  them  at  mass  when,  standing  in  front  of 
the  missal,  he  sang  the  Prsefatio.  When  I  had 
finished  he  got  up,  poured  for  me  another  full 


38  ®l)e  Befcs  of  ll)e  HUM. 

glass  of  wine  and  said :  "You  are  a  good  boy. 
You  have  done  right  in  coming  here." 

Then  he  turned  his  back  to  me  to  hide  his 
tearful  eyes;  and  lifting  his  arms  above  his 
head,  his  hands  clasped  as  when  he  raised  on 
high  the  Host  at  the  elevation,  he  exclaimed : 
"Oh  wicked  master!  Oh  false  Christian! 
The  Son  of  God  shed  his  blood  for  great  and 
small,  for  marquis  and  for  serf.  Wicked  mas- 
ter! False  Christian!  To-day  art  thou  mas- 
ter, but  to-morrow  thou  mayst  be  cast  down ! 
Thy  hand  is  raised  against  thy  God,  and  thou 
makest  Jesus  his  Son  to  weep:  for  he  sees  his 
people  starve.  Oh  master  accursed!  Oh  false 
Christian !  Saint  Roch  will  take  from  thee  the 
bread  thou  ravishest  from  those  who  are  cry- 
ing for  food!  Thou  wilt  see  the  gleaming 
sword  of  great  Saint  John  the  Baptist,  and  thou 
shalt  feel  its  sharp  edge !  Thy  stronghold  shall 
fall  down  before  thee,  the  tocsin  will  forever 
ring  for  thee,  and  thou  shalt  see  thy  fountain 
run  with  blood!  Oh  wicked  lord!  Oh  wicked 
Christian !  On  thee  rests  heavily  the  curse  of 
God!" 

In  repeating  these  words  old  Pascal  had 
risen  to  his  feet  and,  unconsciously  imitating 
the  gestures  of  the  good  cure,  had  raised  his 


JOeatl)  or  Slauers.  39 


hands  above  his  head  in  denunciation  —  while 
we  all,  overcome  by  his  fervour,  listened  breath- 
lessly and  gaped  at  him  with  wide  open  eyes. 
For  a  moment  he  was  silent;  and  then,  re- 
seating himself,  he  continued: 

Presently  Monsieur  Randoulet  turned  toward 
rne,  took  me  gently  by  the  hand,  and  led  me 
away;  Janetoun  following  with  the  lamp.  We 
went  through  a  beautiful  parlour  that  smelt  of 
incense  like  a  sacristy;  and  at  the  end  of  it 
was  a  double  door  which  Monsieur  le  Cure 
opened,  and  there  inside,  in  the  alcove,  was  a 
big  bed. 

"Now  then,"  said  he,  "you  shall  sleep 
here,  in  the  bed  of  the  Bishop  of  Carpentras!  " 
He  stroked  my  cheeks  once  more  with  his  soft 
hand,  and  again  pressed  my  head  against  his 
side,  and  then  left  me  alone  with  Janetoun. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  my  hands, 
I  dared  not  touch  anything.  Janetoun,  as  soon 
as  her  master  had  left  us,  seized  me  by  the 
arm  and  in  her  rough  voice  cried:  "What  are 
you  gaping  at  !  Get  off  your  rags  and  go  to 
bed!  "  And  turning  her  back  on  me  she  clat- 
tered off  with  the  light  —  leaving  me  in  the 
alcove  alone  in  the  dark. 

Poor  little  me!     I  soon  got  off  my  coarse 


40  ®l)c  Uebs  of  tye  iflibi. 

wool  jacket  and  breeches  and  rough  stockings. 
Feeling  my  way  carefully,  I  climbed  into  the 
big  bed — as  soft  as  feathers  could  make  it.  I 
buried  myself  in  it,  I  burrowed  down  in  it. 
In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  I  was  as  warm  as  a 
chick  under  the  hen;  and  in  another  twinkling 
I  was  as  sound  asleep  as  a  top!  The  bed  was 
so  soft,  the  white  sheets  smelt  so  clean,  that  as 
I  dropped  off  I  felt  myself  among  the  angels — 
I  who  all  my  life  had  gone  to  sleep  hungry  and 
whose  bed  had  been  always  a  truss  of  straw. 

In  my  sleep  I  dreamed  that  I  was  floating  in 
the  air  on  a  cloud,  and  that  nothing  could  reach 
me  to  do  me  harm.  I  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
wonderful  dream  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard 
loud  shrill  cries,  such  as  you  hear  when  a  pig 
is  being  stuck;  and  then  came  a  rumbling  and 
squeaking  like  a  rusty  well-wheel,  and  the 
clatter  that  the  bucket  makes  banging  against 
the  sides  of  the  well;  and  then,  right  over  my 
head,  bom !  bom !  bom !  three  great  claps  of  a 
bell !  My  blood  turned  cold  within  me  and,  be- 
fore I  had  time  to  remember  where  I  was, 
again  came  the  screaming  and  the  rumbling  and 
the  squeaking  and  the  banging — and  again 
bom!  bom!  bom! 

And  then  suddenly  I  remembered  that  I 
was  in  the  Bishop's  bed  in  the  Curacy,  and  my 


IBeatl)  or  Siauerij.  41 

fright  left  me  as  I  understood  the  meaning  of 
all  these  strange  sounds:  that  the  bell-tower 
of  the  church  was  right  above  me,  and  that  the 
bell-rope  ran  up  through  the  alcove  and  rubbed 
against  the  tester  of  my  bed.  It  was  the  morn- 
ing Angelus  that  was  ringing;  the  same  An- 
gelus  that  sounded  so  clearly  and  so  beauti- 
fully in  the  early  morning  far  off  in  our  hut  of 
La  Garde. 

Just  as  the  last  stroke  of  the  Angelus  rang  I 
heard  Janetoun's  sabots  clattering;  and  then 
the  alcove  door  opened  creakingly  and  I  saw 
her  standing  in  the  grey  morning  light.  She 
put  a  bundle  on  my  bed  and  said  in  her  rough 
voice:  "Get  up,  little  boy!  Here,  put  on  this 
shirt,  these  breeches,  this  jacket,  these  shoes 
and  this  cap.  Do  you  understand?"  and  so 
saying  she  spread  out  the  clothes  on  the  bed. 

I  gazed,  gaping  like  a  clam,  at  all  this 
brand-new  outfit;  but  before  I  had  time  to  say 
a  word  Janetoun  had  turned  on  her  heel,  and 
from  the  parlour  door  was  calling  back  to  me 
that  I  must  get  up  at  once  or  I  would  keep 
Monsieur  le  Cure  waiting. 

That  warning  was  enough.  I  jumped  out 
of  my  high  bed  with  a  single  bound ;  and  in 
no  time  I  had  scrambled  into  the  white  shirt, 
the  new  breeches,  the  warm  jacket,  the  hole- 


42  ®l)c  Eebs  of  tl)e  fflibi. 

less  stockings,  the  pretty  little  buckled  shoes, 
and  the  little  three-cornered  hat.  When  I  saw 
myself  in  my  fine  clothes,  I  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  my  hands — and  indeed  could 
scarcely  walk!  But  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  kept  Monsieur  le  Cure  waiting;  and  so, 
timidly  tip-toing  along,  taking  care  not  to  slip 
on  the  shining  tiles,  I  went  down  to  the 
kitchen. 

Monsieur  Randoulet  already  was  seated  at 
the  table,  and  before  him  was  a  steaming  cup 
of  something  black.  When  he  saw  me,  he 
could  not  help  laughing.  "Oh  look  at  the 
little  scamp  of  a  Pascalet,  why  he  might  be  the 
consul's  son!  Sit  down  here  and  get  your 
breakfast. 

•''Do  you  like  this?"  he  added,  and  gave 
me  a  cup  of  black  steaming  stuff,  just  like  his. 
He  took  a  spoonful  of  brown  sugar  from  a  dish 
and  stirred  it  into  my  cup.  "There,  that  will 
warm  up  your  little  stomach,"  he  said — and 
gave  me  a  big  fougasse  with  its  crusty  horns. 

He  ate  and  drank;  and  then,  doing  just  as 
he  did,  I  sipped  at  my  cup  of  black  water  and 
dipped  in  it  a  horn  of  my  fougasse.  Not  until 
seven  years  later  did  I  know  that  that  black 
stuff  was  coffee — for  the  next  time  I  tasted  it 
was  at  Jaffa,  after  the  battle  of  the  Pyramids, 


UDeatl)  or  Slaoerj).  43 

when  Bonaparte  gave  us  coffee  to  keep  us 
from  the  plague. 

"Well,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet,  wiping 
his  lips,  ' '  did  you  like  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

"And  now  do  you  want  to  see  your  fa- 
ther?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

"  Up  then,  and  we'll  be  off.  Button  your 
jacket,  it  is  cold."  And  we  went  down  into 
the  street. 

By  that  time  it  was  broad  day ;  and  as  we 
passed  by  the  church  we  saw  before  it,  on  the 
pavement,  a  big  pool  of  blood.  Monsieur 
Randoulet  stopped  short.  "Ah,  the  wicked 
ones,"  he  cried,  "  to  fight,  to  knife  each  other 
in  this  way!  Children  of  the  people — eating 
the  same  black  bread,  dragging  the  same  chain 
after  them,  tanning  their  skins  at  the  same 
work,  burning  in  the  same  hell,  slaves  of  the 
same  master!  Ah  poor  people,  poor  peo- 
ple! They  unite  their  strength  and  they 
sweat  blood  only  for  the  profit  of  their  execu- 
tioners! " 

We  kept  on  to  the  hospital,  but  a  few  steps 
away,  and  entered  without  knocking — for  the 
doors  of  the  House  of  Charity  always  are  wide 
open — and  so  passed  up  the  stairs.  At  the 


44  ®be  ftcbs  of  tlje  iltiM. 

stair-head,  to  the  left  hand,  was  the  room  for 
the  sick,  into  which  Monsieur  Randoulet  led 
me;  and  as  we  entered  Sister  Lucy,  who  was 
the  sister  in  charge,  came  forward  to  meet  him 
with  a  reverent  greeting.  On  each  side  of  the 
room  were  narrow  white  beds.  In  the  first 
four  to  the  right  were  four  wounded  men 
whose  wives  were  taking  care  of  them.  But 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  to  the  left,  I  saw 
my  poor  mother  at  the  head  of  a  bed ;  and  I 
made  but  one  jump  to  her  and  threw  myself 
into  her  arms.  And  my  mother,  weeping, 
gave  me  a  kiss !  The  poor  do  not  kiss  often — 
their  children  not  at  all.  I  cannot  recollect 
that  any  one  had  ever  kissed  me  before.  When 
my  mother  kissed  me  it  seemed  as  if  in  that 
moment  I  lived  over  all  the  days  of  my  life, 
while  my  heart  within  me  swelled  with  joy. 
And  then,  turning,  and  leaning  over  the  bed, 
I  covered  my  old  father's  wounded  face  with 
tears;  while  he  kept  saying,  over  and  over: 
"Pascalet!  Pascalet!  Art  thou  indeed  Pasca- 
let,  my  son  Pascalet?" 

But  when  1  stood  up  again  and  saw  my 
father's  face;  when  I  saw  the  red  swollen 
welts,  a  finger  thick,  that  Monsieur  Robert's 
and  Surto's  whips  had  raised  on  his  cheeks 
and  forehead;  when  I  saw  his  poor  swollen 


or  0lat)erB.  45 


eye,  almost  starting  out  of  his  head  —  then  I 
began  to  tremble  with  a  burning  rage.  My 
face  was  on  fire  and  my  ears  rang.  My  teeth 
were  eager  to  bite,  my  nails  to  rend.  I  longed 
to  burn  the  Chateau,  to  poison  the  wells! 

But  I  was  so  helpless!  All  that  I  could  do 
was  to  weep.  I  clinched  my  hands  and  said 
within  me:  "Oh,  when  I  am  big!" 

My  old  father  began  to  move  about  rest- 
lessly ;  and  then  to  push  down  the  coverings 
with  his  thin  hairy  hands. 

"  Why  art  thou  moving  about  that  way  ?  " 
my  mother  asked,  covering  him  again  with  the 
white  sheets. 

"I  want  to  say  something,  La  Ratine. 
Come  forward,  thou  and  Pascalet.  Listen. 
You  are  not  in  the  way,  Monsieur  le  Cure. 
Now  that  Pascalet  is  here,  I  want  to  say  this 
to  you:  You  must  both  go,  toward  mid-day, 
to  the  Chateau  to  see  our  lord  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis, and  our  lady  Madame  le  Marquise,  and 
Monsieur  Robert;  and  you  must  tell  them  that 
as  soon  as  I  am  well  I  will  go  and  ask  their 
pardon.  You  will  fall  at  their  knees,  at  their 
feet,  and  you  will  beg  them  to  have  pity  on 
you  and  on  me.  Tell  them  that  our  lives  are 
in  their  hands.  Dost  thou  hear,  wife  ?  Pasca- 
let, dost  thou  hear  ?  You  must  not  fail." 


46  ®l)e  Kebs  of  tlje  JttiM. 

Here  Monsieur  Randoulet  cut  him  short: 
"No,  no,  Pascal,  this  is  not  the  moment  for 
that ;  when  you  are  well,  we  will  see  about  it. 
Believe  me,  I  know." 

"Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!"  said  my  old 
father.  "  What  will  ever  our  good  master  the 
Marquis  think  of  us,  and  Monsieur  Robert  also, 
if  we  do  not  ask  their  forgiveness  ?  But,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cure,  if  you  think  it  is  not  suitable — 
not  suitable  now  ?  " 

"No,  no,  this  is  not  the  moment.  I  will 
look  after  it  all,  do  not  be  uneasy.  And  now 
good-bye,  Pascalet.  Come  this  evening  and 
sleep  at  the  Curacy.  You  understand,  Pas- 
calet ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  I,  looking 
at  him  with  reverence — for  it  seemed  to  me 
that  in  him  I  really  saw  the  good  God. 

But  when  he  turned  to  leave  us  my  father's 
words  came  back  to  me:  "  You  must  go  and 
ask  forgiveness!"  /ask  forgiveness!  I  was 
red  with  shame,  the  blood  boiled  in  my  veins 
— and  the  wicked  thought  came  to  me:  Why 
have  I  such  a  father  ?  I  was  ashamed  of  him. 
Not  only  would  1  disobey  him,  but  I  did 
not  know  what  I  would  do  if  he  tried  to 
force  me. 

I  was  drawn  away  from  these  bitter  thoughts 


or  Slaoerg.  47 


by  hearing  Monsieur  le  Cure,  as  he  passed  be- 
side the  other  beds,  speaking  to  the  poor 
women  who,  weeping,  were  taking  care  of 
their  wounded  men.  One  had  his  cheek  laid 
open  by  the  bottom  of  a  bottle  so  that  all  his 
teeth  showed;  another  had  both  legs  broken 
at  the  knees  by  a  blow  from  an  iron  bar;  into 
the  back  of  the  third  a  knife  had  been  plunged 
up  to  the  hilt;  and  the  fourth  had  been  almost 
disembowelled  by  a  blow  with  a  ploughshare. 
This  last,  though  so  frightfully  wounded,  had  left 
the  tavern  and  had  managed  to  stagger  as  far 
as  the  church  before  he  fell.  It  was  his  blood 
we  had  seen. 

"But  how  has  this  happened?  Who  are 
the  wretches  who  have  wrought  this  misery  ?" 
Monsieur  le  Cure  asked  again  and  again. 

"They  will  not  speak  out,"  cried  the  four 
women  together.  "They  will  not  tell.  They 
will  only  say  that  it  was  the  Papalists  —  who 
called  them  Liberals  and  then  fell  on  them  and 
wounded  them  as  you  see!  " 

"Ah,  if/  dared  but  speak  out!  "  said  one 
of  the  women. 

"What  good  would  speaking  out  do?" 
said  another.  "The  rich  are  always  the  rich 
—  they  never  are  in  the  wrong." 

"Come,  come,  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 

5 


48  ®ljc  ftebs  of  tlje  ittiM. 

the  rich,"  said  Monsieur  le  Cure.  "  Rich  peo- 
ple don't  kill  off  poor  people  like  flies." 

"When  you  go  up  to  the  Chateau,  mon- 
sieur," said  one  of  the  women,  turning  her 
head  away  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "just 
ask  big  Surto  what  took  place.  He  knows  all 
about  it.  Could  stones  speak  out  and  tell  all, 
that  man  wouldn't  keep  his  head  on  his  shoul- 
ders for  long! " 

"Then  all  this  has  come  from  a  quarrel  be- 
tween Liberals  and  Papalists  ?  " 

"That  is  all,  Monsieur  le  Cure.  Are  we 
the  kind  of  people  to  do  harm  ?  " 

Monsieur  Randoulet  turned  away  from  them 
for  a  moment,  while  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
When  he  spoke  again  he  said  gently:  "Take 
good  care  of  these  poor  fellows.  I  will  not  for- 
get you  and  your  children — you  shall  not 
want." 

Before  he  left  the  hospital  he  tried  to  get  a 
word  from  the  wounded  men.  But  their  hurts, 
and  the  fever  that  was  beginning  to  come  on, 
kept  them  from  answering — and  so  he  went 
away. 

Surto's  name,  spoken  by  one  of  the  women, 
gave  me  goose-flesh.  To  my  mind  that  man, 
that  monster,  that  German,  was  ready  for  any 
crime.  He  frightened  me  more  than  wolves  or 


or  Sloocrg.  49 


tigers,  or  the  very  devil  himself  !  I  was  sure 
that  he  was  looking  for  me;  that  he  wanted  to 
kill  me  in  some  dreadful  way  to  revenge  his 
master,  Monsieur  Robert,  whose  foot  I  had 
mashed  with  the  stone  —  and  I  saw  myself  torn 
to  pieces  with  the  whip,  and  then  strung  up  to 
one  of  the  oaks  on  the  avenue  of  the  Chateau. 

And  so  I  stayed  close-hidden  all  day  long 
in  the  hospital;  where  —  with  my  father  and 
my  mother  and  the  Sisters  —  I  thought  that  I 
was  as  safe  as  in  the  Curacy  itself.  And  yet  it 
was  in  the  hospital  that  the  danger  was  to 
come. 

I  waited  until  black  night  shut  down  close 
upon  the  village  —  until  not  a  light  showed  in  a 
single  window  and  I  was  sure  that  everybody 
was  in  bed  —  before  I  dared  to  stir  toward  the 
Curacy.  But  in  the  very  moment  that  I  turned 
to  go  we  heard  faintly  the  sound  of  men's  voices 
singing  the  ''Range  Lingua,"  and  with  this 
the  tinkling  of  a  little  bell.  Sister  Lucy  opened 
the  window  and  looked  out,  and  said  as  she 
closed  it  again:  "They  are  the  White  Peni- 
tents. They  must  be  escorting  the  Holy  Sacra- 
ment to  some  sick  man.  But  where  can  they 
be  going  ?  Who  can  it  be  ?  " 

The  tinkling  of  the  bell  and  the  singing 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  at  last  reached  the 


5°  ®l)e  ftebs  of  ll)£  HUM. 

hospital ;  then  they  stopped,  and  we  heard  the 
sound  of  heavy  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  The 
door  opened,  and  in  came  six  White  Penitents: 
spectre-like  creatures  in  long  white  gowns, 
with  their  heads  hidden  in  pointed  cowls — 
cagoules,  as  the  Penitents  call  them — which 
came  down  to  their  shoulders  and  had  two 
staring  round  holes  for  their  eyes. 

When  I  saw  these  six  ghosts  with  their 
stretched-out  heads  pointed  above  and  below, 
without  any  mouth  and  without  any  nose, 
with  only  two  black  holes  where  the  eyes 
ought  to  be — and  still  more  when  I  saw  the 
biggest  of  them  glancing  at  me  fiercely  with 
his  hollow  eyes — I  trembled  with  fright  and, 
holding  my  breath  to  make  myself  smaller, 
squeezed  down  in  hiding  between  my  father's 
bed  and  the  wall. 

In  that  very  instant  the  six  Penitents  drew 
each  a  great  knife  out  from  his  long  hanging 
sleeve,  and  without  a  word  they  went  up  to  the 
four  wounded  Liberals  and  so  larded  them  with 
thrusts  and  cuts  that  their  blood  soaked  through 
the  straw  mattresses  and  streamed  upon  the 
floor!  The  women  screamed  for  help,  and 
Sister  Lucy  ran  beseechingly  from  one  execu- 
tioner to  the  other — until  a  sidewise  kick  in 
her  ribs  sent  her  reeling  against  my  father's 


or  0lat)er|j.  51 


bed,  breathless  and  sick.  My  mother  fell  over 
against  me,  in  a  swound  from  fear. 

All  this  happened  quicker  than  I  am  telling 
it  you.  When  the  Liberals  were  dead,  stabbed 
through  and  through,  five  of  the  Penitents,  all 
bloody,  ran  four  steps  at  a  time  down  the 
stairs.  But  one,  the  biggest  one,  stayed  be- 
hind. He  came  straight  to  my  father's  bed 
and  stooped  and  looked  under  it  —  so  that  I 
saw  his  eyes  flashing  through  the  holes  of  his 
cagoule.  Then,  stooping,  he  reached  out  his 
arm  and  caught  my  wrist  and  so  dragged  me 
out. 

I  screamed  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  But  no 
good  came  of  screaming.  There  was  no  one 
to  help  me.  Only  my  poor  old  father  and  the 
weak  women  and  the  dead  were  there  —  and 
the  monstrous  great  Penitent,  dragging  me 
with  him  from  the  room,  hustled  me  down 
the  stairs  and  so  into  the  street.  Whether  or 
no,  I  had  to  follow  him.  He  held  me  like  a 
vice.  When  I  called  for  help  he  turned  and 
cuffed  me;  and  by  the  time  that  a  window 
opened  —  as  happened  once  or  twice  —  we  were 
far  away.  So  we  passed  beyond  the  skirts  of 
the  village;  and  at  last,  tired  of  struggling, 
more  dead  than  alive,  I  followed  him  quietly  — 
as  an  unhappy  dog  follows  one  who  drags  him 


52  ®l)e  Bcbs  of  tl)c  ittibi. 

at  the  end  of  a  thong  to  throw  him  over  a 
bridge. 

What  could  that  murderous  wretch  want 
with  me  ?  From  the  moment  that  he  had  come 
into  the  hospital  I  had  guessed  who  it  was; 
but  when  we  turned,  after  leaving  the  village, 
into  the  road  leading  to  the  Chateau  there  was 
no  room  left  for  hoping  that  my  guess  might 
be  wrong.  I  knew  for  certain  that  this  man 
who  was  dragging  me  after  him,  who  held  me 
with  his  big  strong  hand — red  with  the  blood 
of  murdered  men — was  Surto;  and  I  felt  that 
since  it  was  Surto  who  had  me  fast — there  in 
the  darkness  of  night,  and  on  that  lonely  road 
through  the  fields  where  there  was  no  chance 
for  me  of  rescue — I  was  as  good  as  lost. 

Pascal,  who  was  a  born  story-teller,  paused 
at  his  climax;  while  we,  greedily  listening, 
bent  forward  open-mouthed  and  eager  for  him 
to  go  on.  And  just  at  that  very  moment  the 
shop  door  flew  open  with  a  bang,  and  in 
rushed  La  Mie,  the  shoemaker's  wife,  like  a 
malicious  whirlwind ! 

"  What  are  you  all  doing  ?  What  are  you 
thinking  about  ?  "  she  cried  angrily.  "  Here  it 
is  eleven  o'clock — in  another  moment  it  will 
be  midnight.  And  you  have  been  chattering 


SDcatl)  or  SlatJerg.  53 

about  nothing  for  a  good  two  hours!  The  oil 
is  wasting,  and  my  miserable  cobbler  of  a  hus- 
band is  losing  his  time  like  a  child.  And  as 
for  you,  you  lazy  dog, "  she  added,  turning  to 
the  apprentice,  "  not  a  stitch  have  you  set  the 
whole  night  long.  It  is  enough  to  drive  a 
saint  crazy.  Begone,  all  of  you!"  And  La 
Mie,  in  a  towering  passion,  blew  out  the 
lamp. 

"You  hard-tongued  slut,"  cried  the  shoe- 
maker through  the  darkness,  grinding  his  teeth, 
"  I'll  serve  you  out  for  this!  " 

As  for  the  rest  of  us,  we  groped  our  way 
along  the  walls  to  the  door,  got  out  into  the 
street,  and  set  off  for  our  homes  and  beds. 
But  we  hardly  had  taken  ten  steps  when  we 
heard  the  sound  of  the  shoemaker's  strap 
whacking  La  Mie's  back  with  sounding  blows. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   REDS   OF  THE   MIDI. 

DURING  the  whole  of  the  next  day  the  one 
thing  that  was  talked  about  in  our  village — at 
olive-mill,  washing-place  and  bake-oven — was 
La  Mie's  tremendous  whacking;  which  had 
lasted,  it  was  rumoured,  until  well  on  toward 
morning.  And  when  I  heard  all  this  gossip  I 
wondered  if  that  evening  the  shoemaker's  shop 
would  be  open  for  the  meeting. 

But  I  felt  reassured  when  my  grandfather, 
as  he  swallowed  his  last  mouthful  of  supper, 
snapped  his  knife  together,  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  said:  "Come  on,  little  man,  light  the  lan- 
tern. You  will  see  she  has  had  enough  to 
make  her  behave  herself  for  a  fortnight!  " 

Well,  he  was  right.  The  shop  was  open 
just  the  same  as  usual;  shoemaker  and  appren- 
tice were  tapping  away  as  cheerily  as  ever; 
and  what  was  more,  there  was  La  Mie  in  per- 
son, smiling  and  agreeable,  seated  close  to  the 
light  knitting  her  stocking.  She  talked  of  va- 

54 


ftebs  of  tlje  ittiM.  55 


rious  things  and  made  herself  pleasant  to  every- 
body. "  Good  evening,  Dominic"  (that  was 
to  my  grandfather).  "Pray  take  this  chair. 
And  you,  my  dear,  put  down  that  saucy  cat 
who  has  jumped  up  on  your  little  bench." 
And  then,  turning  to  her  husband,  she  added  : 
"  Why,  see  there,  your  lamp  is  burning  badly," 
and  so  saying  she  took  her  scissors  and 
trimmed  the  lamp.  And  in  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  all  the  while,  there  was  a  ring  of  su- 
preme satisfaction  and  content. 

I  did  not  understand  her  good  humour.  But 
all  the  neighbours  smiled,  and  then  La  Mie 
smiled  too  —  for  every  one  knew  that  after  the 
shoemaker  and  his  wife  had  quarrelled  and 
made  up  again  they  always  were  the  best  of 
friends.  And  so,  when  Pascal  came,  she  said 
with  all  possible  cordiality:  "Ah,  we  have 
been  waiting  for  you.  Draw  up  to  the  stove. 
I  heard  that  you  were  telling  a  story,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  come  and  listen 
with  the  rest  —  because  your  stories  always  are 
so  good.  Begin  right  away." 

And  I,  fearful  that  Pascal  might  have  for- 
gotten just  where  he  left  off,  and  that  we  might 
lose  a  part  of  the  story,  ventured  to  strike  in  : 
"You  know,  Pascal,  you  stopped  where  the 
big  White  Penitent  was  dragging  you  through 


56  ®l)c  Befcs  of  tl)e  4JUM. 

the  black  night  along  the  road  to  the  Cha- 
teau." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"  Pascal  answered. 
And  then,  after  waiting  a  minute  or  two 
until  we  all  were  comfortably  settled,  he 
went  on: 

I  certainly  thought  that  I  was  lost.  Every 
time  that  I  hung  back,  or  tried  to  break  away, 
Surto  gave  me  a  buffet;  and  when  he  changed 
me  from  one  hand  to  the  other  he  swung  me 
around  so  rapidly  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would 
jerk  loose  my  arms.  All  this  time  he  was 
walking  fast — and  never  for  an  instant  did  he 
let  me  go  free. 

Up  on  the  heights,  at  the  end  of  the  road, 
I  could  begin  to  make  out  the  black  row  of 
oaks  in  front  of  the  Chateau — and  I  knew  that 
once  beyond  those  oaks  it  was  all  up  with  me. 
Yet  if  only  I  could  get  loose  for  so  much  as  a 
second  I  felt  sure  that  I  would  be  all  right — for 
a  single  spring  aside  would  take  me  out  of  the 
road  and  into  safety.  I  knew  every  hand's 
breadth  of  the  country  thereabouts — the  steep 
hill-sides,  the  tufts  of  bushes,  the  ditches,  the 
walls,  the  paths;  and  then,  too,  in  the  black- 
ness of  night  a  start  of  two  steps  is  worth 
more  than  a  long  run  by  day.  But  the  first 


licfcs  of  ll)C  JttiM.  57 


thing  to  do  was  to  get  my  start  by  making 
him  let  go  of  my  hand. 

At  first  I  thought  of  biting  him  —  of  biting 
off  his  finger,  perhaps;  but  I  saw  that  wouldn't 
do,  for  I  couldn't  bite  him  at  once  in  both 
hands.  And  then  my  great  danger  sharpened 
my  wits  and  gave  me  a  better  notion  :  making 
me  remember  the  trick  that  often  had  been  put 
upon  me  by  the  little  wild  creatures  —  crickets, 
beetles,  cigales,  the  praying-mantis  —  which 
sometimes  I  caught  in  the  fields.  As  I  touched 
them  they  would  always  —  either  from  fear  or 
by  cunning  —  gather  themselves  into  a  little 
heap,  moving  neither  foot  nor  leg,  so  that  they 
seemed  quite  dead.  I  could  turn  them  as  I 
pleased;  blow  on  them;  shout  at  them  —  yet 
they  never  stirred.  But  did  I  for  a  single  mo- 
ment look  aside  —  off  would  scuttle  my  crickets, 
and  my  cigales  and  beetles  instantly  would  fly 
away  !  It  always  was  a  fresh  surprise  to  me, 
this  trick;  and  the  good  thought  that  came  to 
me  was  that  I  should  play  it  in  my  own  behalf. 
There  was  no  time  to  be  wasted,  and  the  very 
minute  that  I  had  this  notion  I  acted  upon  it  — 
dropping  like  a  dead  creature  and  hanging  limp 
from  Surto's  huge  hand. 

"  Vat,  you  vont  valk  any  more  ?  "  he  cried. 
"Veil,  take  that  then!"  —  and  he  gave  me  a 


58  ®l)e  Hebs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

kick  in  the  ribs  that  seemed  to  crack  every  one 
of  them  and  that  knocked  all  the  wind  out  of 
me.  But  I  set  my  jaws  hard  and  made  no 
sound;  nor  did  I  give  any  sign  of  life  when  he 
followed  up  the  kick  by  a  cuff  with  his  great 
paw  that  made  my  teeth  chatter.  He  seemed 
to  suspect  a  trick,  for  all  this  while  he  never 
let  loose  his  grip  on  my  wrist;  and  when  he 
found  that  neither  kicks  nor  cuffs  could  make 
me  walk  he  dragged  me  along  behind  him,  my 
body  bumping  on  the  rough  ground.  This 
was  not  good  going  for  me;  but  it  also  was 
bothersome  for  him.  He  had  not  taken  ten 
steps — to  every  one  of  which  he  swore  a  big 
German  oath — before  he  stopped  again.  By 
that  time  he  must  have  begun  to  believe  in  my 
trick,  for  I  heard  him  mutter:  "I'll  haf  you 
any  vay,  tead  or  alife!  " — and  then  he  tried  to 
swing  me  up  on  his  shoulders. 

Luckily  for  me,  his  Penitent's  dress  was  in 
the  way  and  he  couldn't  manage  it.  The  big 
sleeves  caught  him  in  his  arms,  and  the  cagoule 
flapped  about  so  that  the  holes  no  longer  were 
before  his  eyes.  It  was  as  though  he  had  his 
head  in  a  bag.  Still  holding  me,  he  tried  to 
throw  off  the  cagoule  with  one  hand.  But  it 
would  not  come  loose;  and  at  last,  entirely 
tricked  by  my  limp  deadness,  he  let  me  drop 


0f  tlje  JttiM.  59 


on  the  ground  while  he  went  at  it  with  both 
hands.  My  chance  had  come!  In  an  instant, 
while  he  still  was  fumbling  at  the  cagoule,  I 
was  on  my  feet;  and  before  his  head  was  clear 
of  it  I  had  jumped  the  ditch  by  the  roadside 
and  had  bounded  in  among  the  brushwood— 
and  so  was  well  away! 

"Te  tevil!  Ten  tousand  tevils!  I'll  haf 
you  yet,  you  little  peast!"  he  cried  out  after 
me  ;  and  I  heard  him  crashing  into  the  brush- 
wood as  he  leaped  the  ditch  and  then  came 
pounding  along  heavily  in  my  wake.  But  he 
might  as  well  have  been  chasing  thistledown! 
I  had  the  start  of  him  ;  I  knew  my  way  ;  the 
darkness  covered  me.  Presently,  when  I  was 
a  long  way  ahead,  I  heard  him  whistling  for 
the  dogs  at  the  Chateau.  Dogs  were  another 
matter.  They  could  get  along  even  better 
than  I  could  in  the  dark.  I  ran  harder  than 
ever.  But  the  dogs  were  slow  in  coming.  I 
am  not  sure  that  they  came  at  all.  Faintly, 
far  behind  me,  I  heard  Surto's  strong  Dutch 
curses  as  I  came  in  sight  of  the  outlying  houses 
of  Malemort.  I  was  saved  ! 

It  was  after  midnight  when  I  entered  the 
village;  yet  the  streets  were  full  of  people  and 
all  the  houses  were  alight.  The  kniving  of  the 
four  Liberals  had  turned  the  whole  place  upside 


60  ®f)e  Eefcs  0f  ttye  IttiM. 


down.  As  I  crossed  the  Rue  Basse  I  heard 
the  cries  and  moans  of  the  women,  up  in  the 
hospital,  wailing  over  their  dead;  and  the 
murmurs  and  curses  of  the  crowd  standing 
about  the  hospital  door.  Still  all  of  a  tremble 
with  fear,  1  dared  not  enter  the  crowd.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  only  with  Monsieur  le  Cure 
would  I  be  safe  —  and  I  went  to  the  Curacy 
without  a  halt.  Janetoun  had  not  gone  to  bed, 
and  at  my  first  little  knock  I  heard  the  clatter 
of  her  wooden  shoes. 

"Who  is  there  ?"  she  called  out. 

"I,  Pascalet." 

Then  Janetoun  quickly  swung  the  door 
open.  "Well,  I  never!"  she  cried.  "It  is 
Pascalet,  sure  enough.  Where  did  you  get 
away  from  the  White  Penitent  ?  " 

"Up  by  the  Chateau.  I  played  him  a  trick 
that  made  him  let  me  go  —  and  then  I  ran  off 
from  him  in  the  dark." 

"  But  what  did  he  want  with  you  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  kill  me." 

"Kill  you!  K\\\you—  little  Pascalet!  The 
monster!  Do  you  know  who  it  was  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  very  well.     It  was  Surto." 

"The  game-keeper  of  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis ?  That  fine  handsome  big  man  ?  What 
are  you  talking  about  ?  It  is  impossible!  " 


0f  tl)e  ittiM.  61 


"No,  it  is  not  impossible.  I  know  him 
very  well.  It  was  he." 

"You  are  crazy,  child.  Be  careful  not  to 
speak  that  wild  thought  to  any  one  else.  Have 
you  had  your  supper  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  Sister  Lucy  gave  it  to  me." 

"Very  well.  Then  you  shall  go  to  bed. 
Monsieur  le  Cure  has  not  come  home  yet. 
They  sent  for  him  to  bring  the  holy  oil  to  the 
hospital  —  but  the  men  there  are  past  holy  oil- 
ing, from  what  I  hear.  When  he  comes  back 
I'll  tell  him  you're  here.  But  you'd  better  get 
to  bed,  so  come  on." 

Janetoun  led  me  to  the  big  parlour,  opened 
the  doors  of  the  alcove,  and  showed  me  again 
the  great  soft  bed  of  the  Bishop  of  Carpentras  ; 
and  as  she  was  closing  the  doors  of  the  alcove 
upon  me  she  said:  "  At  least  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross  before  you  go  to  sleep." 

I  groped  my  way  to  bed.  But  when  I 
was  between  the  sheets,  in  among  the  soft 
feathers,  I  could  not  sleep.  I  had  one  shiver- 
ing fit  after  another;  and  the  White  Penitent, 
with  his  cagoule  that  made  his  head  seem  like  a 
kite,  always  was  before  my  eyes.  I  would  see 
him  standing  up  straight  and  tall  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  ;  then  his  long  arms  would  reach  out 
over  me  ;  his  grasp  would  settle  tight  on  my 


62  ®l)e  Ec&0  0f  tl)e  HUM. 

foot ;  and  when  I  tried  to  cry  out  for  help  he 
would  clutch  my  throat  with  his  blood-stained 
hands.  When  sleep  did  come  to  me  he  still 
kept  with  me  and  lashed  me  in  my  dreams; 
until  at  last  he  brought  out  his  long  knife  and 
was  making  ready  to  pin  me  with  it  to  the 
bed,  as  he  had  done  with  the  men  at  the  hos- 
pital. And  then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  loud 
creaking  noise ;  the  door  of  the  alcove  opened ; 
a  blinding  light  shone  upon  me — and  there, 
beside  my  bed,  was  Monsieur  le  Cure  with  a 
lamp  in  his  hand. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Pascalet,"  he  said.  "It 
is  I — Monsieur  Randoulet.  You  must  get  up 
now.  Day  will  soon  be  breaking.  You  must 

go-" 

"Monsieur,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  go  back  to 
the  hospital.  I  am  afraid." 

"  You  are  not  to  go  to  the  hospital,  Pasca- 
let. You  are  to  go  quite  away  from  here,  to  a 
place  where  you  will  be  in  safety.  And  now 
you  must  get  up  quickly.  Before  the  daylight 
comes  you  must  be  off." 

Without  another  word  I  was  out  of  bed 
and  sliding  into  my  clothes.  But  when  I 
looked  for  my  cocked  hat  it  was  not  to  be 
found. 

"Ah,  it  is  your  little  hat  you  are  looking 


Hebs 


for,"  said  Monsieur  Randoulet.  "Here  it  is. 
You  left  it  at  the  hospital;"  and  then  he  led 
me  quickly  to  the  kitchen,  where  Janetoun 
already  had  a  glowing  fire.  Janetoun  was 
greatly  excited.  She  was  going  to  and  fro  in  a 
hurry  exclaiming:  "Oh  Heaven!  Oh  Heaven!" 
and  between  whiles  heaving  great  sighs. 

Monsieur  Randoulet  brought  out  a  blue 
cloth  wallet  into  which  she  put  two  double- 
handfuls  of  figs,  two  more  of  almonds,  some 
apples,  and  a  loaf  of  bread.  Then,  with  a 
comfortable  gurgling  sound,  she  filled  for  me  a 
little  brown  flask  made  out  of  a  brown  gourd 
— so  polished  that  it  shone  like  a  chestnut — 
from  the  great  jar  of  wine. 

When  all  was  finished,  Monsieur  Randoulet 
took  my  hand  in  both  of  his  and  said  to  me: 
"My  child,  we  are  fallen  on  evil  times.  The 
men  about  us,  worse  than  wolves,  seek  to  de- 
vour their  own  kind.  Our  streets  run  red  with 
blood.  Even  thou,  my  child,  even  thou,  they 
seek  in  order  to  make  thee  perish — and,  withal, 
thou  art  a  good  boy.  Therefore  it  is  well  that 
thou  shouldst  go  far  from  here,  even  to  the  city 
of  Avignon ;  so  far  away  that  they  no  longer 
can  do  thee  harm.  In  the  flask  and  wallet 
which  Janetoun  has  filled  are  food  and  drink 
enough  to  suffice  thee  for  two  days — double 


64  ®l)*  ftefcs  of  tl)e  Jttibi. 

the  time  that  thou  needst  to  be  upon  the  road. 
Here  is  a  letter  which  thou  must  keep  by  thee 
carefully  until  thou  art  come  to  Avignon,  where 
thou  art  to  present  it  to  Monsieur  le  Chanoine 
Jusserand.  He  will  find  honest  work  for  thee 
to  do,  so  that  thou  mayst  gain  thy  livelihood 
with  clean  hands.  And  remember  always,  my 
child,  that  no  man  ever  regrets  the  good  that 
he  has  done ;  and  that  to  every  man,  sooner  or 
later,  comes  retribution  for  his  evil  deeds. 
Kiss  me  and  promise  me  that  thou  wilt  never 
render  evil  for  evil ;  but  for  evil,  good — even  as 
our  blessed  Lord  has  taught  us  from  the  height 
of  his  cross." 

And  I,  my  heart  hurting  me  because  of 
Monsieur  le  Cure's  goodness  and  the  pain  of 
going  out  alone  from  my  home,  answered: 
"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I  promise.  But — 

"What  is  it?" 

"My  mother — who  will  take  care  of  her?" 

"  Do  not  trouble  thyself,  my  child.  Neither 
thy  father  nor  thy  mother  shall  suffer  want." 

He  hung  the  bag  full  of  victuals  about  my 
neck,  and  thrust  into  the  pocket  of  my  coat 
the  shining  flask  filled  with  good  wine.  ' '  Come 
now,"  he  said,  "I  will  start  thee  in  the  right 
road  " — and  he  led  the  way  down  the  stairs, 
and  so  to  the  outer  door. 


of  tl)*  4JUM.  65 


The  stars  were  still  in  the  sky  when  we 
reached  the  street.  No  one  was  stirring.  The 
only  noise  was  the  gurgling  of  the  fountain. 
We  went  on  together  in  silence  until  we  were 
outside  the  village  and  fairly  upon  the  high 
road  to  Avignon.  Then  Monsieur  Randoulet 
took  me  in  his  arms,  kissed  me,  and  said: 
"  Remember,  Pascalet,  all  that  I  have  told 
thee.  I  will  take  care  of  thy  father  and  thy 
mother;  and  as  for  thee,  so  thou  be  a  good 
boy,  Monsieur  Jusserand,  the  Canon,  will  see 
to  it  that  thou  hast  a  chance  to  gain  thy  bread. 
Do  not  lose  the  letter.  By  sunrise  thou  wilt 
be  half  way  on  thy  journey.  Ask  the  first  peo- 
ple whom  thou  meetest  if  thou  art  on  the  road 
to  Avignon.  Walk  on  like  a  man  —  and  at 
mid-day  thou  wilt  sight  the  Palace  of  the 
Popes." 

Again  he  embraced  me,  and  I  felt  him  slip 
something  into  the  pocket  of  my  jacket;  but  I 
could  not  guess  what  it  was,  nor  could  I  think 
much  about  it,  because  just  then  my  heart  was 
so  full.  "Thank  you  very,  very  much,  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet  "  was  all  that  I  could  find  to 
say.  And  then  I  started  on  the  road  to  Avi- 
gnon. 

I  walked  and  I  walked  —  on  and  on  over  the 
white  road  and  through  the  black  night.  The 


66  ®l)e  fUbs  of  tlje  HUM. 

farmhouse  dogs  came  out  barking  from  as  far 
off  as  they  could  scent  me.  Some  even  tried  to 
bite  me.  And  I,  poor  little  miserable  boy, 
made  myself  as  small  as  I  could  and  walked 
on  and  on!  Once  I  almost  turned  back.  I 
was  frightened  not  less  by  the  darkness  than 
by  the  silence — which  every  now  and  then 
was  made  keener  by  the  hooting  in  some  elm 
or  willow  by  the  roadside  of  a  screech-owl :  a 
dismal  bird. 

But  at  last,  as  I  walked  on  steadily,  day- 
break came;  and  all  of  a  sudden  the  beautiful 
clear  sun  sprang  up  over  Mount  Crespihoun — 
sending  my  shadow  far  ahead  of  me  on  the 
white  road  and  cheering  and  comforting  me 
with  his  warm  rays.  My  long  shadow  amazed 
and  delighted  me.  "  It  is  not  possible,''  I  said 
to  myself,  "that  you  are  as  big  as  that;  that 
you  are  so  well  dressed ;  that  you  have  a  cocked 
hat!  Why,  you  look  like  a  man!"  And  I 
grew  almost  happy  to  feel  myself  suddenly  so 
grown  up,  and  free,  and  my  own  master  out 
in  the  world.  Just  then  I  remembered  that 
when  Monsieur  Randoulet  had  left  me  he  had 
slipped  something  into  the  pocket  of  my  jacket; 
and  when  I  fetched  it  out  to  look  at  it,  behold ! 
wrapped  tight  in  a  blue  paper  I  found  three 
beautiful  white  silver  crowns!  This  was  too 


of  tl)e  JttiM.  67 


much!  Three  whole  crowns!  What  could  I 
ever  do  with  such  a  sum  ?  Then  indeed  I  felt 
myself  a  big  strong  man.  In  that  moment  I 
do  not  think  that  even  Surto  would  have  fright- 
ened me. 

I  strode  along  the  road  as  proud  as  Lucifer; 
and  presently,  looking  up,  I  saw  before  me  a 
great  city  with  houses  having  many  windows  — 
quite  unlike  our  little  houses  at  Malemort  —  while 
rising  still  higher  in  the  morning  sunlight  were 
noble  towers:  "What,  Avignon  already?"  I 
said  to  myself.  "  Well,  you  have  come  a  good 
pace!  "  But  just  then  I  met  a  lame  old  peasant 
on  his  way  to  hoe  his  vineyard,  and  his  answer 
to  my  question  if  it  were  Avignon  took  a  little 
of  the  conceit  out  of  me. 

"Well,  my  lad,"  he  answered,  "it's  plain 
that  you're  not  from  around  here.  That's  not 
Avignon  —  that's  Carpentras.  The  city  of  Avi- 
gnon, God  be  thanked,  is  far  enough  from  here. 
If  you  keep  right  along  your  road  you'll  hardly 
get  there  by  sunset." 

The  old  man  put  down  his  hoe  from  his 
shoulder  as  he  spoke;  and  then,  leaning  on  its 
handle  as  shepherds  lean  on  their  crooks,  he 
looked  hard  at  me  and  added:  "Tell  me,  my 
lad,  is  the  matter  very  important  that  is  taking 
you  to  Avignon  just  now  ?  If  it  is  not,  you 


68  $!)<>  ftcbs  of  tjje  iflibi. 

had  better  turn  right  around  and  go  back  to 
the  place  you  came  from.  They  say  that 
things  are  happening  in  Avignon  fit  to  make 
your  blood  run  cold.  And  it  isn't  surprising, 
either.  They  are  a  bad  lot,  down  there — 
jealous,  envious,  deceitful,  cowardly — bad  all 
the  way  through.  Brigands,  people  call  them ; 
and  that's  what  they  are."  He  was  silent  for 
a  moment;  and  then,  coming  close  to  me  and 
speaking  in  a  low  voice  in  my  ear,  he  went 
on:  "They  are  worse  still.  They  are  working 
for  what  they  call  the  '  Revolution  ' ;  for  some 
sort  of  a  new  government  in  France,  and 
against  the  Pope.  They  want  to  get  rid  of  the 
Pope's  government — brigands  that  they  are! 
And,  do  you  know,  twice  they  have  tried  to 
besiege  our  town  of  Carpentras  ?  That  shows 
what  wretches  they  must  be.  I  need  say  no 
more,  my  lad.  Good-bye!"  and  off  he  went 
up  the  road.  When  he  had  gone  a  little  way 
he  turned  again  and  called:  "  I  have  a  piece  of 
good  advice  to  give  you:  Go  back  whence  you 
came!"  and  then,  his  hoe  on  his  shoulder,  he 
went  hobbling  away. 

But  I,  having  my  orders  from  Monsieur  le 
Cure,  was  not  to  be  put  about  by  the  chance 
warnings  of  a  lame  old  man.  I  went  forward, 
steadily  and  stoutly,  as  though  I  had  not  heard  a 


of  ll)e  ittifci.  69 


single  word.  The  sun  rose  higher  and  higher  as 
I  walked  on  and  on.  I  passed  long  stretches  of 
garrigues,  whence  came  to  me  the  sweet  clean 
smell  of  thyme  growing  wild  there  on  the 
rocky  hills  ;  and  then  longer  stretches  of 
meadow  land  dotted  with  -vejados  —  the  little 
sod-heaps  capped  each  one  with  a  stone  which 
are  set  up  to  warn  away  shepherds  with  their 
flocks.  And  so  noon-tide  came  and  passed. 

It  was  in  the  early  afternoon  that  first  I  saw 
the  Rhone,  one  of  the  biggest  rivers  in  the 
world.  I  have  seen  the  Rhine,  the  Danube,  the 
Berezina:  they  all  are  smaller  than  the  Rhone. 
I  don't  know  how  to  make  you  see  it  better 
than  by  saying  that  it  is  as  wide  as  Monsieur 
Veran's  twenty-acre  field.  Only  suppose  that 
instead  of  seeing  the  brown  wheat  stubble 
you  saw  a  great  ditch  full  of  water  running 
from  away  off  down  to  the  very  sea  —  and  then 
you  would  have  the  Rhone! 

At  last  I  came  within  sight  of  the  Pope's 
City.  Saints  in  Heaven  !  What  a  beautiful  town 
it  was!  Going  right  up  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  bank  of  the  river  was  a  bare  rock, 
steep  and  straight  as  though  cut  with  a  stone- 
mason's chisel,  on  the  very  top  of  which  was 
perched  a  castle  with  towers  so  big  and  high 
—  twenty,  thirty,  forty  times  higher  than  the 


70  ipe  ftefcs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 

towers  of  our  church — that  they  seemed  to  go 
right  up  out  of  sight  into  the  clouds!  It  was 
the  Palace  built  by  the  Popes;  and  around  and 
below  it  was  a  piling  up  of  houses — big, 
little,  long,  wide,  of  every  size  and  shape,  and 
all  of  cut  stone — covering  a  space  as  big,  I 
might  say,  as  half  way  from  here  to  Carpentras. 
When  I  saw  all  this  I  was  thunderstruck.  And 
though  I  still  was  far  away  from  the  city  a 
strange  buzzing  came  from  it  and  sounded  in 
my  ears — but  whether  it  were  shouts  or  songs 
or  the  roll  of  drums  or  the  crash  of  falling  houses 
or  the  firing  of  cannon,  I  could  not  tell.  Then 
the  words  of  the  lame  old  man  with  the  hoe 
came  back  to  me,  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  felt  a 
heavy  weight  on  my  heart.  What  was  I  going 
to  see,  what  was  going  to  happen  to  me  in  the 
midst  of  those  revolutionary  city  folks  ?  What 
could  I  do  among  them — I,  so  utterly,  utterly 
alone  ? 

In  order  to  scare  up  a  little  courage  I  felt  in 
my  pocket  to  make  sure  that  I  still  had  the 
letter  that  Monsieur  Randoulet  had  given  me. 
There  was  the  good  letter,  and  as  I  touched  it 
I  seemed  to  feel  the  kind  Cure's  hand;  and 
there,  too,  were  the  three  beautiful  white 
crowns,  each  one  of  them  worth  three  francs. 
And  then,  my  spirits  rising  until  I  was  as  light 


Eebs  of  ll)c  fftibi.  71 


as  a  bird,  I  marched  on  again  until  I  came  to 
the  gate  of  Saint-Lazare  in  the  walls  of  Avi- 
gnon. 

Oh  what  sights  I  saw  there  and  what  a 
crowd  !  How  many  shall  I  say  ?  I  don't 
know  —  at  least  ten  thousand.  The  people 
were  jumping,  dancing,  laughing,  clapping 
their  hands,  hugging  each  other,  until  you 
might  have  thought  they  all  were  merry-mad. 
I  found  myself,  I  scarcely  know  how,  mixed 
in  with  this  crowd  —  which  was  spread  out 
along  the  base  of  the  ramparts  and  was  going 
in  and  out  of  the  wide  open  gates.  All  of  a 
sudden  some  one  raised  the  cry:  "The  faran- 
dole!  The  farandole!"  —  and  the  tambourins 
began  to  buzz,  pipes  began  to  squeal,  and  I 
saw  coming  toward  rne  a  swaying  line  of 
dancers  hand  in  hand:  an  endless  farandole 
stretching  as  far  as  I  could  see. 

And  what  a  farandole!  There  in  line  were 
bare-footed  ragamuffins  hand  in  hand  with 
well-to-do  well-dressed  citizens  each  with  his 
watch  on.  There  were  soldiers,  washwomen 
and  hucksterwomen  in  their  Catalan  caps, 
dandies  with  silk-tied  queues,  porters,  ladies  in 
lace  dresses.  There  was  a  Capuchin  monk, 
red  as  a  peony,  and  a  brace  of  priests;  and 
there  were  three  nuns  kicking  up  their  heels 


72  ®l)e  ftefcs  of 


and  showing  their  fat  calves.  Then  followed 
a  long  line  of  girls,  of  children,  of  everything. 
And  all  these  people  capered  and  danced 
and  sang  in  time  to  the  pipes  and  tabors  scat- 
tered along  the  line.  There  was  no  end  to  it 
all  —  and  the  crowd  clapped  hands  and  ap- 
plauded and  from  time  to  time  sent  up  a  great 
shout  of  "Vive  la  Nation!"  Presently  I  too 
caught  the  madness  —  and  away  I  went  with 
the  others  in  the  farandole,  shouting  '  '  Vive  la 
Nation!  "  at  the  top  of  my  lungs. 

It  was  so  long,  that  farandole,  that  neither 
beginning  nor  end  could  be  seen  to  it.  Before 
the  last  of  the  dancers  had  come  out  by  the 
Porte  Saint-Lazare  the  leaders  had  entered  the 
city  again  by  the  Porte  du  Limbert;  while  the 
crowd  pressed  close  behind,  squeezed  together 
like  a  swarm  of  bees.  Utterly  bewildered, 
gaping  like  an  oyster,  I  followed  my  leaders; 
and  so  entered  Avignon  by  the  Porte  du  Lim- 
bert and  went  on  through  the  Rue  des  Tein- 
turiers,  the  street  of  the  Water  Wheels. 

What  a  queer  street  that  is!  Half  of  it  is  a 
paved  street  and  the  other  half  is  the  bed  of 
the  river  Sorgue;  and  on  the  side  of  the  river 
huge  black  wheels,  dipping  down  into  the 
swiftly-running  water,  stick  out  from  the  cali- 
co-mills and  dye-houses  and  turn  the  machin- 


Eefcs  of  tlje  JUibi.  73 


ery  that  is  inside.  As  that  day  was  a  great  fes- 
tival, the  weavers  and  dyers  were  not  at  work. 
Everywhere  the  buildings  were  hung  from 
roof  to  ground  with  great  pieces  of  party-col- 
oured calico  —  red,  blue,  green,  yellow,  with 
big  bunches  of  flowers  all  over  them  —  and 
from  drying  lines  stretched  across  the  street 
there  floated  thousands  and  thousands  of  the 
pretty  bright-coloured  neck-kerchiefs  which 
our  girls  wear:  so  that  the  whole  place  seemed 
to  be  ablaze  with  flags  and  festoons  and  ban- 
ners shimmering  in  the  sunlight  as  they  flut- 
tered in  the  cold  air.  And  all  these  fluttering 
waving  things,  and  the  buzzing  roar  and  the 
surging  and  swaying  of  the  crowd,  with  the 
sparkling  Sorgue  water  falling  with  a  tin- 
kling drip  in  the  sunshine  —  like  cascades  of  au- 
tumn leaves  —  from  the  great  slowly  turning 
wheels  which  seemed  like  huge  snails  moving 
backwards  ;  all  this  sparkle  and  glitter  and  tu- 
mult and  turmoil,  I  say,  was  enough  to  dazzle 
a  man  and  make  him  mad  with  joy! 

The  press  in  the  narrow  street  was  so  close 
that  the  farandole  dancers  could  not  caper  with 
any  comfort  at  all.  Every  now  and  then  I 
could  catch  sight  of  their  heads  far  in  advance 
bobbing  up  and  down  above  the  level  of  the 
crowd  —  as  they  vainly  tried  to  keep  time  to 


74  ®l)e  tt*&8  ^  tlje  ittibi. 


the  squealing  of  the  pipes  and  the  quick  tap- 
ping of  the  tambourins.  And  so  on  we  went 
—  some  of  us  lifted  off  our  feet  at  times  in  the 
tight  squeeze  —  up  through  the  street  of  the 
dyers  and  the  street  of  the  hosiers,  and  then 
out  through  the  Rue  Rouge  to  the  Place  de 
1'Horloge  in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville;  where 
there  was  room  to  spread  out  again  and  the 
farandole  dancers  once  more  could  skip  it  and 
jump  it  as  they  pleased.  Again  I  saw  pass  and 
repass  that  strangely  linked  human  chain. 
There  were  the  bearded  Capuchin  and  the  pot- 
bellied burghers,  the  nuns  red  as  poppies,  the 
soldiers,  the  priests,  the  washwomen,  the  fine 
ladies,  the  loafers,  the  children,  the  porters  —  in 
a  word,  there  was  all  Avignon  dancing  the 
farandole:  while  up  on  the  Rocher  des  Doms 
cannon  thundered,  and  all  the  crowd,  dancers 
and  on-lookers,  roared  "Vive  la  Nation!"; 
and  high  in  the  clocktower  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  wooden  Jacquemart  and  Jacquemarde, 
who  keep  the  time  for  Avignon,  beat  upon  the 
great  bell  and  sent  its  loud  clangour  booming 
above  us  in  the  clear  air. 

From  the  Place  de  1'Horloge  we  went 
onward,  the  crowd  keeping  with  us  and  fol- 
lowing us,  to  the  open  square  in  front  of  the 
Pope's  Palace:  where  all  the  merry-making 


®l)e  ftebs  of  tl)e  ittiM.  75 

•was  to  come  to  a  climax  in  a  People's  Festival. 
In  the  middle  of  the  square  was  a  platform  on 
which  already  were  seated  the  Commissioners 
who  had  arrived  the  evening  before  from  Paris 
to  make  formal  proclamation  of  the  reunion  of 
Avignon  to  France.  The  crowd  soon  spread 
over  the  Rocher  des  Doms,  and  increased  con- 
stantly. People  were  squeezed  and  pressed 
together  like  wheat  in  a  hopper.  They  were 
piled  up  everywhere — the  windows,  the  bal- 
conies, the  very  roof-tiles  were  black  with 
heads.  The  circling  dancers  with  joined  hands 
made  a  great  swaying  curve  which  took  in 
both  the  square  of  the  Pope's  Palace  and  the 
Place  de  1'Horloge.  The  mass  of  the  crowd 
was  surrounded  by  this  huge  farandole;  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  balancing  dancers  the  on- 
lookers clapped  their  hands  and  stamped  their 
feet  in  time  to  the  drumtaps  and  shouted: 
"Vive  la  Nation!  Down  with  the  Pope's 
Legate!  Vive  la  France!" 

Presently  one  of  the  Commissioners  stood 
up  on  the  platform  and  made  signs  for  quiet; 
and  when,  little  by  little,  the  drummers  and 
pipers  had  stopped  playing  and  the  noise  of 
the  crowd  slowly  had  ceased,  the  Chief  Com- 
missioner, the  formal  delegate  from  the  Na- 
tional Assembly  at  Paris,  read  out  the  great 


76  ®l)c  ftefcs  of  fyt  ittiM. 

decree:  which  declared  Avignon  and  the  Com- 
tat  Venaissin  severed  from  the  dominions  of 
the  Pope  and  once  more  united  to  France. 
And  then  the  crowd  burst  forth  into  such  a 
shouting  of  "Vive  la  Nation!"  and  "Down 
with  the  Pope's  Legate!"  that  it  seemed  as  if 
their  cries  never  would  have  an  end. 

But  quiet  came  suddenly  when  the  Com- 
missioners' were  seen  to  turn  toward  the  Pope's 
Palace  and  to  make  signs  to  some  workmen 
posted  up  on  the  roof,  and  as  the  workmen 
obeyed  their  order  a  solemn  silence  rested  on 
the  crowd.  On  top  of  the  Palace,  sticking  up 
above  the  battlements,  you  still  may  see  the 
little  stone  gable  where  hung  for  I  know  not 
how  long  the  silver  bell  that  to  most  people 
was  almost  the  same  thing  as  the  Pope  him- 
self. It  rang  when  the  old  Pope  died ;  it  rang 
when  the  new  Pope  was  blessed  and  crowned 
— and  people  said  that  it  rang  all  by  itself, 
without  touch  of  human  hand.  In  Avignon, 
the  ringing  of  that  sweet-toned  little  silver  bell 
seemed  to  be  the  Pope's  own  voice;  and  to 
see  it  gleaming  in  the  sunshine  up  there  in  the 
gable  above  his  Palace  made  one  understand, 
somehow,  his  greatness  and  his  glory  and  his 
riches  and  his  power. 

And   there   before   our  eyes,  obeying  the 


0f  tl)£  4JUM.  77 


order  of  the  Commissioners,  the  workmen 
were  taking  that  bell  away  forever  —  because 
the  Comtat  was  a  part  of  France  again,  and 
the  power  of  the  Popes  over  Avignon  was 
gone! 

In  the  dead  silence  we  could  hear  the  click- 
ing of  pincers  and  the  tapping  of  hammers 
and  the  grating  of  files;  and  then  a  single 
sharp  sweet  clang  —  which  must  have  come 
when  the  bell,  cut  loose  from  its  fastenings, 
was  lifted  away.  Having  it  thus  free  from  the 
setting  where  it  had  rested  for  so  long  a  while, 
the  workmen  brought  it  to  the  battlements; 
and  in  plain  sight  of  all  of  us,  down  the  whole 
great  depth  of  the  Palace  walls,  lowered  it  by 
a  cord  to  the  ground.  And  the  poor  little  bell, 
glittering  like  a  jewel  in  the  sunshine,  tinkled 
faintly  and  mournfully  at  every  jar  and  jerk  of 
the  cord  as  though  it  knew  that  its  end  had 
come  :  now  giving  out,  as  it  swayed  and  the 
clapper  struck  within,  a  sweet  clear  sound; 
and  again,  as  it  jarred  against  the  wall,  a  sound 
so  harsh  and  so  sad  that  to  hear  it  cut  one's 
heart.  All  the  way  down  those  great  walls  it 
uttered  thus  its  sad  little  plaint;  until  we 
seemed  to  feel  as  though  it  were  a  child  some 
one  was  hurting;  as  though  it  were  a  living 
soul.  And  I  know  that  the  pain  that  was  in 


78  Orije  ftefcs  0f  tl)e 


my  heart  was  in  the  hearts  of  all  that  crowd. 
The  silence,  save  for  the  mourning  of  the  bell, 
was  so  deep  that  one  could  have  heard  the 
flight  of  a  butterfly  —  and  through  it,  now  and 
then,  would  come  from  some  one  a  growling 
whisper:  "  Liberty  and  the  Rights  of  Man  are 
all  very  well,  but  they  might  have  left  our  little 
bell  alone!"  And  it  is  certain  that  for  an 
hour  or  more  after  the  funeral  of  the  little  bell 
was  ended  no  one  shouted  "  Vive  la  Nation!  " 
or  "Down  with  the  Pope's  Legate!  "  or  "  Vive 
la  France!  " 

But  quickly  enough  tambourins  and  fifes 
began  to  play  again;  the  farandole  again  got 
going;  again  there  sounded  the  buzz  and  mur- 
mur of  the  crowd.  And  then  the  men  began  to 
bring  the  victuals  for  the  Festival  :  great  baskets 
of  freshly  baked  white  bread,  fat  jars  of  olives, 
and  baskets  of  nuts  and  of  golden  winter 
grapes.  All  these  good  things  were  arranged 
in  front  of  the  platform  where  the  Commis- 
sioners were  standing,  and  whoever  pleased 
was  free  to  go  up  and  draw  a  fixed  portion  :  a 
loaf  of  bread,  seven  olives,  six  filberts  or  wal- 
nuts, and  a  bunch  of  grapes. 

Getting  to  the  baskets  through  the  crush 
that  there  was  around  them  was  no  easy  mat- 
ter. But  I  managed  it,  though  pretty  well 


Hebs  of  tlje  HUM.  79 


banged  and  bruised  by  the  way;  and  when 
my  rations  were  secured  I  looked  about  me  for 
a  place  where  I  could  munch  them  in  some 
sort  of  comfort  and  at  the  same  time  see  what 
was  going  on. 

The  steps  leading  up  to  the  portico  of  the 
Pope's  Palace  seemed  to  be  just  the  place  for 
me,  as  from  there  you  see  over  the  whole  big 
square.  A  good  many  other  people  had  had 
the  same  notion  and  were  seated  or  standing 
on  the  steps  eating  away  ;  but  a  soldier  of  the 
National  Guard,  who  was  there  with  his  wife 
and  little  boy,  moved  up  and  made  room  for 
me  so  that  I  found  myself  very  well  fixed  in- 
deed. The  soldier  was  a  good-looking  fellow 
—fair  and  rosy  and  with  blue  eyes,  a  kind  you 
don't  often  find  in  these  parts  —  and  under  his 
big  fierce  yellow  moustache  he  had  a  very 
friendly  smile.  At  first  he  didn't  say  anything 
to  me,  but  when  he  saw  me  cracking  my 
walnuts  with  my  teeth  he  could  not  hold  his 
tongue.  "The  deuce!"  he  cried.  "You've 
got  a  pair  of  iron  nippers  in  those  jaws  of 
yours,  youngster,  and  no  mistake!" 

He  went  on  cracking  his  own  walnuts  with 

a  Rhone  cobble-stone,  smiling  pleasantly  and 

giving  the  kernels  to  his  wife  and  little  boy. 

As  for  me,  I  was  both  abashed  and  pleased  by 

7 


8o  ®l)e  ftcbo  of 


his  taking  notice  of  me.  I  grinned  foolishly, 
and  looked  down,  and  did  not  dare  to  answer 
him.  His  big  plumed  hat,  his  blue  coat  with 
its  red  facings,  his  long  sword  —  curved  like  a 
partly  straightened  sickle  —  upset  me  and  filled 
me  with  admiration.  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
how  splendid  it  would  be  to  have  such  a  man 
for  a  father  —  even  for  a  cousin,  a  friend! 

Suddenly  he  stood  up  and  looked  over  the 
crowd.  "They're  tapping  the  barrels,"  he 
said,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  his  wife  for  a 
straw-covered  bottle  that  was  lying  by  her 
side.  Then,  seeing  my  little  brown  gtmrd,  he 
said:  "  If  that's  empty,  give  it  to  me  and  I'll 
get  it  filled  for  you." 

Empty  it  was,  for  I  had  drained  it  on  the 
road,  and  without  daring  even  to  say  thank 
you  I  gave  it  to  him  ;  and  off  he  went  through 
the  press  up  toward  the  end  of  the  square, 
where  the  crowd  was  packed  close  around  six 
big  wine-casks  ranged  beneath  the  wall  of  the 
Cardinal's  palace  in  a  row.  The  casks  had 
just  been  tapped  —  and  I  can  tell  you  the  crowd 
went  for  them  !  For  a  moment  we  saw  our  sol- 
dier shouldering  his  way  in  among  the  people; 
then  we  saw  only  his  hat;  and  at  last  we  saw 
only  his  red  feather,  as  it  went  bobbing  up  and 
down  among  the  heads  in  the  distance. 


of  tl)e  ittiM.  81 


In  ten  minutes  or  so  he  got  back  to  us  —  his 
bottle  and  my  gourd  as  full  as  they  would  hold. 
His  moustache  was  all  wet,  and  little  red  drops 
of  wine  hung  from  the  tip  of  each  of  its  hairs. 

"  Father,"  called  out  the  little  boy  as  soon 
as  he  saw  him,  "  I  want  some  more  grapes." 

"There  are  no  more  grapes.  You  shall 
have  some  wine." 

"No,  I  want  grapes." 

"  But  I  tell  you  they  are  all  gone." 

"Come,  darling,  drink  the  nice  wine," 
said  his  mother,  holding  the  full  bottle  to  his 
lips. 

"No,  no,  I  want  grapes." 

I  had  not  yet  eaten  my  grapes.  I  got  up 
and  handed  my  bunch  to  the  child,  saying: 
"  There,  little  fellow,  eat  these,"  and  I  felt  my 
cheeks  getting  red  again. 

"What,  deny  yourself  for  that  little  glut- 
ton! I  really  can't  have  it,"  said  the  soldier. 

"  Please,"  said  I,  "  let  him  eat  my  grapes. 
He  is  such  a  dear  little  boy." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  mother, 
smiling  at  me.  And  then,  taking  the  grapes 
and  giving  them  to  the  child,  she  made  him 
thank  me  for  them  with  a  little  bow. 

"You  don't  seem  quite  like  one  of  our  Avi- 
gnon people,"  the  soldier  said  as  he  handed 


82  ®j)e  Eebs  0f  tl)e  HUM. 

me  back  my  gourd.  "I  don't  want  to  know 
what  isn't  my  business,  but  do  you  belong 
here  ?  " 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  am  from  Male- 
mort." 

"And  what  do  you  come  here  for ? " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  But  I  have  a  letter 
for  Monsieur  le  Chanoine  Jusserand,  who  is  to 
find  me  some  way  of  getting  a  living.  Could 
you  tell  me  where  he  lives  ?  " 

At  this  my  soldier  frowned,  and  looked  at 
me  so  hard  that  he  frightened  me.  "What!  " 
he  cried.  "  A  letter  to  Canon  Jusserand!  Then 
you  must  be  an  Aristo,  a  Papalist  !  " 

"I?  I  don't  know  just  what  you  mean. 
But  I  don't  think  that  I'm  a  Papalist." 

"Then  what  do  you  want  with  Canon  Jus- 
serand?" 

"I  was  told  he  would  give  me  some  work 
to  do." 

"Why,  don't  you  know  that  Canon  Jus- 
serand is  an  Aristo  ?  He  won't  find  work  for 
any  but  Papalists,  that's  sure.  But  you  seem  to 
be  a  nice  sort  of  a  boy,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  to 
do  if  the  Canon  receives  you  badly.  Come  and 
look  for  me  in  the  guard-room  in  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  on  the  Place  de  1'Horloge,  and  I  will  see 
that  you  get  into  the  National  Guard.  I'll 


Eeba  of  tlj*  ittiM.  83 


take  you  in  my  own  company.     How  old  are 
you  ?" 

"  I  must  be  sixteen,  more  or  less,"  said  I  — 
adding  on  at  least  a  year. 

"  That's  all  right.  You  can  be  enrolled  if 
you're  sixteen.  Then  that's  settled,  is  it  ?  Now 
I'll  show  you  how  to  go.  Take  that  narrow 
street  over  there,  just  in  front  of  us.  Keep 
down  it  and  turn  to  the  left  and  you'll  be  in 
the  Rue  du  Limas.  There  you  will  see  a  house 
with  a  balcony,  and  that  is  where  the  old 
Canon  lives." 

As  he  said  this  he  turned  toward  his  wife 
and  I  saw  him  winking  and  making  a  sign  to 
her.  She  answered  him  by  laughing  a  little; 
and  then,  getting  up  and  coming  in  front  of 
me,  she  unfastened  a  tricolor  cockade  from  her 
Catalan  cap  as  she  said:  "Now  that  you  are  a. 
good  Patriot  and  hate  the  Papalists,  I  will  give 
you  my  cockade."  And  when  she  had  fas- 
tened it  into  my  hat  she  turned  to  her  husband 
and  added:  "  See  how  jaunty  he  looks  !  You 
are  right,  he  will  make  a  pretty  National 
Guard." 

And  then  the  soldier  slapped  me  on  the 
back  and  shouted,  and  I  shouted  after  him: 
"  Vive  la  Nation!  Down  with  the  Legate!  " 

"Now,"  said  he,   "go  find  your  Canon. 


84  ®l)e  Ecbs  of  lt)e  4BiM. 

But  don't  forget  what  I  said.  You  know  where 
to  look  for  me  if  he  turns  you  off.  Ask  for 
Sergeant  Vauclair." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  I  answered.  "  I 
won't  forget."  And,  so  saying,  I  left  him— 
all  upset,  and  not  knowing  whether  it  were 
fear  or  joy  that  made  something  leap  so  in  my 
breast. 

It  was  very  hard  work  getting  across  the 
crowded  square,  as  I  had  to  squirm  through 
the  crowd  and  break  the  farandole.  But  as 
soon  as  I  reached  the  narrow  way  that  led  to 
the  Rue  du  Limas  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen 
but  a  few  old  men,  and  in  the  Rue  du  Limas 
itself  there  was  not  even  so  much  as  a  cat. 
This  was  the  quarter  of  the  Whites,  the  Aristo- 
crats. Every  door,  every  shutter,  was  tightly 
barred.  But  I  knew  that  there  were  people  in 
the  houses  for  I  could  hear  voices;  and  in  some 
that  I  passed  women  loudly  telling  their  beads. 
I  went  straight  to  the  house  with  the  balcony 
and  knocked.  In  a  moment  a  little  window 
was  opened  over  head ;  but  before  I  could  look 
up  it  was  clapped  to  again,  and  I  did  not  see 
any  one. 

Then  I  heard  doors  open  and  shut  inside 
the  house  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the 
corridor,  and  then  the  creaking  of  the  two 


tUbs  of  tlje  JttiM.  85 


bolts  as  they  were  drawn  back  and  the  grating 
of  the  big  key  as  it  was  turned  twice  in  the 
lock.  At  last  the  latch  was  raised  and  the 
great  door  was  opened  the  very  smallest  bit. 

A  sour-faced  old  woman,  yellow  as  saffron, 
peeked  at  me  through  the  crack  and  in  a  sharp 
voice  asked:  "  What  do  you  want  ?" 

"I  want  to  see  Monsieur  le  Chanoine  Jus- 
serand,"  I  answered. 

Then  she  opened  the  door  wider,  and  I  took 
a  step  forward.  But  before  I  could  cross  the 
threshold  she  gave  a  scream  as  if  I  had  been  for 
killing  her,  snatched  off  my  hat,  and  fell  to 
yelling:  ''Help!  Jesus  Maria,  help!  A  brigand 
in  the  house!  Help!  Help!  We're  all  lost!  " 

The  old  fury  jerked  the  tricolor  cockade 
out  of  my  hat  and  tore  it  to  pieces  with  her 
crooked  fingers;  spit  on  my  hat,  and  flung  it 
into  the  street;  and  then,  still  howling  for  help, 
she  trampled  on  the  scraps  of  my  cockade 
while  she  held  up  her  petticoats  as  if  she  were 
crushing  a  scorpion.  Finally  she  gave  a  fierce 
yell  out  of  her  big  mouth  —  as  big  as  an  oven, 
and  the  single  fang  in  it  as  long  as  the  tooth  of 
a  rake;  pushed  me  so  hard  that  I  almost  fell 
down,  and  then  clapped  the  door  to  with  a 
bang.  In  another  second  the  two  bolts  grated 
again  as  they  were  shot  back  into  their  places, 


86  ®[)e  ftebs  of  U)e  iflibi. 

and  the  big  key  locked  and  double-locked  the 
door. 

I  was  struck  all  of  a  heap  by  this  outburst. 
I  couldn't  make  head  nor  tail  of  it.  But  by 
this  time  all  the  windows  in  the  neighbour- 
hood were  open  and  from  everywhere  women 
were  screaming:  "There's  a  brigand  in  the 
street!  To  the  Rhone  with  him!  To  the 
Rhone!" — and  as  I  stooped  to  pick  up  my  hat 
from  the  gutter  a  shower  of  brickbats  and  tiles 
and  stones  came  down  around  me.  I  was  only 
too  glad  to  get  out  of  that  Rue  du  Limas — 
where,  without  in  the  least  meaning  to,  I  had 
kicked  up  such  a  row. 

I  felt  as  silly  as  a  soused  cat  as  I  went  back 
to  the  square  of  the  Palace;  and  there  I  mixed 
in  with  the  crowd  and  stared  at  the  farandole 
till  nightfall.  I  turned  over  and  over  in  my 
head  all  that  had  passed,  trying  to  make  sense 
of  it.  I  had  spoken  politely  to  the  lady  in  the 
Rue  du  Limas.  Why  then  had  she  treated  me 
as  if  1  were  a  robber  or  a  murderer  ?  Why 
had  she  torn  off  my  cockade  ?  Why  had  all 
her  neighbours  called  out:  "To  the  Rhone 
with  him!  To  the  Rhone  with  him!"  I  had 
done  no  harm  to  anybody.  Then  why  should 
I  be  hooted  at  and  stoned  ? 

I  looked  around  me  and  thought  bitterly: 


0f  tlje  HUM.  87 


"Here  are  all  these  people,  eating,  drinking, 
dancing,  singing.  Each  one  has  a  home  and  a 
bed  to  go  to.  I  am  the  only  one  here  who  has 
no  shelter  for  the  night,  no  relations,  no  friends. 
In  the  only  place  where  I  had  any  right  to  go, 
I  was  treated  like  a  robber.  "  I  found  myself 
wanting  to  get  back  to  the  old  times  when  the 
sow  took  the  cabbage-stalk  from  me.  What 
was  I  good  for  anyway  ?  What  would  become 
of  me  ? 

Then  I  began  to  think  of  the  Rhone,  the 
great  Rhone,  just  as  I  had  thought  of  the  pond 
at  La  Garde.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  the  sol- 
dier Vauclair,  who  had  spoken  kindly  to  me 
and  who  seemed  to  be  a  good  man.  But 
most  likely  he  had  but  made  fun  of  me  when 
he  said  I  should  be  enrolled  in  his  company  of 
the  National  Guard. 

Night  was  coming  on  fast.  The  Palace 
square  was  emptying  rapidly,  only  one  or  two 
tambourins  were  left  and  the  farandole  was 
breaking  up.  I  saw  one  of  the  three  nuns 
going  off  arm  in  arm  with  two  soldiers.  A 
few  tipplers  still  hung  around  the  wine-casks, 
standing  them  up  on  end  so  as  to  drain  out  the 
very  last  drop. 

I  went  on  the  Place  de  1'Horloge.  People 
there  were  stepping  out  briskly,  for  the  cold 


®i)e  ttcfcs  of  tlje  iUiM. 

began  to  nip.  Only  a  single  lamp  was  lighted, 
the  one  over  the  entrance  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville 
— where  people  were  coming  out  and  going  in 
all  the  time.  I  did  not  dare  to  enter  to  ask  for 
my  National  Guardsman.  I  was  afraid  that  I 
would  only  be  laughed  at  and  turned  away. 
Up  and  down  I  walked  in  the  dark,  thinking 
what  I  had  better  do.  At  last  I  made  up  my 
mind.  The  kind-looking  soldier  certainly  had 
told  me  to  ask  for  him ;  and,  after  all,  if  things 
went  wrong  I  still  had  the  Rhone  to  fall  back 
on.  And  so,  plucking  up  courage,  I  ventured 
within  the  entrance  and  peered  through  a  glass 
door  into  the  lighted  up  guard-room  in  the 
hope  that  I  might  see  my  friend. 

As  I  stood  there,  staring,  the  Porter  came 
out  of  his  room  and  clapped  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder:  "Now  then,  what  are  you  after 
here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  see  Monsieur  Vauclair,"  I  an- 
swered. "Is  he  inside  there  ? " 

"There  are  no  'monsieurs'  here;  we  are 
all  citizens,"  said  the  Porter.  "This  smells  of 
treason,"  he  went  on.  "It  must  be  looked 
into."  And  holding  fast  to  my  shoulder,  so 
that  I  felt  his  five  fingers  digging  into  me 
like  claws,  he  called  out:  " Sergeant,  Sergeant 
Vauclair! " 


ftefcs  0f  tlje  ittiM. 


The  glass  door  of  the  guard-room  opened 
instantly  and  out  came  my  handsome  Guards- 
man— bare-headed,  his  moustache  twirled 
up  and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth.' 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Look  here,"  said  the  Porter,  "do  you 
know  this  sprout  ?  To  my  mind  he  has  the 
mug  of  an  Aristo.  Maybe  he's  a  spy.  He 
asked  for  'Monsieur'  Vauclair." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  youngster,  is  it?  You're 
pretty  late,"  said  Vauclair  kindly.  "And  so 
the  Canon  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
you,  eh  ?  Well,  you'll  be  better  off  here. 
Come,  I'll  enroll  you  right  off.  Vive  la  Na- 
tion! " 

He  took  me  by  the  hand,  while  the  Porter 
said  doubtfully:  "Oh,  you  know  him,  do 
you  ?  All  the  same,  look  out  for  him.  I  haven't 
any  use  for  people  who  say  '  monsieur'!  " 

The  Porter  went  back  into  his  quarters, 
still  grumbling,  and  Vauclair  led  me  into  the 
guard-room.  It  was  a  long  narrow  room, 
lighted  by  a  big  lamp  hung  from  the  ceiling 
by  a  chain,  and  in  its  middle  a  good  stove 
was  roaring  away.  Along  the  walls  were 
benches  on  which  the  men  of  the  Guard  were 
sitting,  smoking  and  talking;  and  at  the  far  end 
were  rough  wooden  bunks  in  which  they 


go  ®|)e  Hebs  of  tfye  iflibi. 

slept.  Guns  and  swords  and  cocked  hats  were 
hanging  on  the  walls;  and  the  walls  were 
pretty  well  covered  with  all  sorts  of  fool-pic- 
tures of  soldiers  done  with  charcoal,  and  with 
scribblings  which  1  suppose  were  writing — but 
I  didn't  know  what  writing  was,  in  those  days. 
The  pipe-smoke  was  thick  enough  to  cut  with 
a  knife.  Everybody  was  smoking — except 
one  man  who  had  laid  his  head  down  on  his 
arms  on  the  table  and  was  sound  asleep. 

"Comrades,  here's  a  new  recruit  for  the 
Revolution — a  volunteer  for  our  Company," 
said  Vauclair  as  we  entered  the  room.  And 
then,  turning  to  me,  he  added:  "That's  so, 
youngster,  isn't  it  ?  Now  then,  speak  out — 
Liberty  or  Death !  Vive  la  Nation !  " 

I  was  beginning  to  get  the  hang  of  things  a 
little  by  this  time.  Standing  on  the  tips  of  my 
toes  to  make  myself  taller,  and  swinging  my 
hat  above  my  head,  I  shouted:  "Vive  la  Na- 
tion! Liberty  or  Death!  "  and  all  the  National 
Guardsmen  cried  after  me:  "Liberty  or 
Death!" 

The  noise  woke  up  the  soldier  who  was 
snoring  on  the  table.  Rubbing  his  eyes  and 
looking  around  him  sleepily  he  called  out: 
"Why  the  devil  are  you  all  making  such  a 
row  ?  " 


Hebe  of  tt)e  ittiM.  91 


"Here's  a  new  volunteer,"  said  Vauclair, 
leading  me  up  to  the  table.  "  Get  the  roster 
and  we'll  enroll  him  right  off." 

"  Good  for  him!  "  the  man  answered. 

By  this  time  he  was  quite  awake  and  had 
brought  out  from  the  drawer  of  the  table  the 
roster  of  the  Company  and  the  form  of  enlist- 
ment that  was  to  be  filled  in.  Spreading  the 
papers  out  before  him  and  dipping  his  pen  in 
the  ink-bottle,  he  turned  to  me  and  said  : 

''Your  name,  Citizen  ?" 

"  Pascalet" 

"  Your  father's  name  ?  " 

"Pascal." 

"  Hasn't  he  any  other  name  than  Pascal?" 

"  I  never  heard  any." 

"  Your  mother's  name  ?  " 

"La  Patine." 

"La  Patine?  Isn't  she  called  also  Gothon 
or  Janetoun  or  Babette  ?  " 

"1  don't  know.  I  never  heard  her  called 
anything  but  La  Patine." 

"Well,  we'll  put  it  down  La  Patine,  any- 
way. Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"At  Malemort  in  the  Comtat." 

"  That's  all  right.     Now  sign  your  name." 

I  had  to  tell  him  that  I  couldn't;  that  I 
didn't  know  how. 


92  ®l)e  Hebs  of  tljc  Iftibi. 

"No  matter,"  said  Vauclair  taking  my 
hand.  "You  don't  know  how  to  write  with 
black  ink,  but  we'll  teach  you  to  write  with 
red!  Where  is  the  quarter-master?  Ah,  there 
you  are,  Berigot.  Take  this  man  to  the  equip- 
ment-room, and  fit  him  out  so  that  he  may  be 
ready  to  present  himself  properly  under  arms." 

An  old  grumbler  got  up  from  the  bench, 
shook  out  his  pipe,  lighted  a  lantern  and 
nodded  to  me  to  follow  him.  We  climbed  up 
into  Jacquemart's  clock-tower  by  a  winding 
stair-case  as  steep  as  a  ladder  and  so  narrow 
that  only  one  person  could  pass  at  a  time.  We 
went  up  and  up  and  up.  At  last  we  reached 
a  square  room  crammed  full  of  soldier-clothes 
and  cocked-hats  and  guns  and  swords.  The 
quarter-master  took  a  careful  look  at  me  and 
then,  turning  to  the  heap  of  clothes,  rummaged 
all  through  it  and  finally  dragged  out  a  coat. 
"There,  that  will  fit  you,"  said  he.  "Try 
it  on." 

Oh  what  a  lovely  coat  it  was!  To  be  sure 
it  had  been  worn  a  good  deal  and  was  a  little 
thread-bare — but  what  difference  did  that  make ! 
It  was  of  dark  green  cloth  with  a  large  turned- 
back  red  collar,  and  it  ha"d  beautiful  gilt  buttons, 
and  fine  long  tails  that  flapped  against  my 
calves.  It  certainly  was  very  much  too  big 


®i)e  ftebs  of  tlje  4SUM.  93 

for  me  all  over,  and  the  sleeves  were  so  long 
that  they  came  down  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers. 
But  I  held  my  tongue  about  its  bigness  and 
quietly  turned  up  the  sleeves;  and,  as  the  coat 
was  lined  with  red.  this  gave  me  a  pair  of  red 
cuffs  like  my  collar. 

Having  got  my  coat,  I  had  next  to  get  a 
hat;  and  this  bothered  me  badly.  I  must  have 
tried  on  between  twenty  and  thirty — and  they 
all  came  down  to  my  ears.  At  last  the  quarter- 
master lost  all  patience  and  called  out:  "Te! 
Put  on  that  red  cap :  then  you'll  be  rigged  like 
the  Marseilles  Federals." 

I  put  on  the  pretty  red  cap.  Its  tip  fell 
over  well  down  to  my  shoulder,  and  on  its 
side  was  stuck  a  full-blown  cabbage  of  a 
cockade!  I  was  delighted  with  it;  and  with 
the  fine  pair  of  blue  breeches  and  the  snowy 
white  gaiters  which  the  quarter-master  tossed 
over  to  me,  saying  that  I  needn't  bother  about 
trying  them  on  as  breeches  and  gaiters  always 
fitted  everybody.  "And  now,"  said  he,  "you 
want  a  sword  and  a  gun.  Pick  out  what  you 
like  and  let's  get  through." 

It  didn't  seem  possible  that  I  really  was  to 
have  a  sword  and  a  gun,  and  I  was  so  upset 
that  I  took  the  first  gun  that  I  laid  my  hands 
on.  But  about  the  sword  I  was  more  careful. 


94  ®l)e  Befcs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

I  wanted  a  long  curved  sword,  like  Vauclair's; 
and  those  in  the  heap  seemed  to  be  all  straight 
and  short.  I  turned  the  heap  topsy-turvy  with- 
out finding  what  1  wanted ;  and  as  I  was  fuss- 
ing altogether  too  long  over  it  old  Berigot 
called  out  to  me:  "What  are  you  making 
such  a  to-do  about  ?  Don't  you  see  one  is  as 
good  as  another  ?  With  a  touch  of  the  whet- 
stone any  of  'em  '11  cut  like  razors.  Take  one 
and  come  along."  And  so  I  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  a  short  straight  sword,  after  all. 

Berigot  fastened  the  door  behind  us,  and 
down  we  went.  I  had  more  than  a  load  to 
carry;  and  my  gun  kept  catching  against  the 
wall,  and  my  sword  all  the  while  was  sliding 
in  between  my  legs  and  tripping  me — so  that 
two  or  three  times  I  nearly  pitched  head  over 
heels  down  the  narrow  stairs — and,  altogether, 
I  was  as  bothered  as  a  donkey  in  a  cane-brake. 
And  then  when  we  got  back  to  the  guard- 
room all  the  men  came  around  me  and  every 
one  had  something  to  say.  "The  cap  doesn't 
fit  badly,"  said  one;  "He'll  grow  up  to  his 
sword,"  said  another;  "The  coat  is  only  a 
span  or  two  too  long,"  said  a  third. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  Vauclair  broke  in,  " don't 
bother  the  boy  with  your  nonsense.  He's  all 
right  Come  along,  Pascalet,  you  shall  sleep 


of  tl)e  ittiM.  95 


in  my  quarters  to-night;  and  before  you  are 
up  in  the  morning  my  wife  will  have  your  coat 
to  fit  you  like  your  skin.  All  it  needs  is  a  tuck 
in  the  sleeves  and  a  little  shortening.  Come, 
we'll  go  now.  You  must  be  about  used  up 
by  this  time.  You  shall  have  a  bite  and  a  sup 
with  us  and  half  of  my  little  boy's  bed;  and  to- 
morrow I'll  take  you  to  the  drill  outside  the 
ramparts  —  and  I  tell  you  we'll  rattle  the  Aris- 
tos  later  on!" 

He  loaded  me  up  with  my  sword  and  gun 
and  gaiters  and  all  the  rest,  and  together  we 
left  the  Hotel  de  Ville;  and  then  went  on 
through  one  crooked  street  after  another  to  the 
little  Place  du  Grand  Paradis.  Here  we  en- 
tered a  tidy  little  house,  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Palapharnerie,  and  found  ourselves  in 
the  dark  at  the  foot  of  a  spiral  stair. 

"Lazuli!  Lazuli!"  Vauclair  called,  but  no 
one  answered.  "She  must  be  at  the  club," 
he  said.  "No  matter,  we'll  find  the  door 
somehow." 

We  groped  our  way  up  the  narrow  stairs, 
where  my  gun  and  sword  again  bothered  me, 
and  so  to  the  second  floor  and  into  a  little 
room  that  was  kitchen  and  living-room  and 
bedroom  all  in  one  —  though  the  bed  was  hid- 
den away  in  an  alcove  at  one  side. 


96  &l)e  ftefcs  of 


Vauclair  got  out  the  flint  and  steel  and  tin- 
der, and  when  he  had  a  spark  going  he  started 
a  flame  on  a  sliver  of  hemp-stalk  dipped  in 
sulphur,  and  with  that  lighted  the  candle.  All 
this  time  he  was  storming  away  at  his  wife. 

"  And  so  Lazuli  must  needs  go  to  the  club," 
he  growled.  "I  should  like  to  know  if  clubs 
are  women's  business!  As  if  men  were  not 
strong  enough  to  defend  Holy  Liberty  and  our 
beautiful  Revolution  !  "  This  started  him  on 
another  tack,  and  away  he  went  on  it:  "We 
must  have  our  Republic.  We  want  it,  and 
we  mean  to  get  it.  We'll  show  King  Capet, 
the  traitor,  that  when  we  ask  for  figs  we  won't 
take  thistles.  Didn't  he  try  to  make  us  believe 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  get  help  for  us  when 
we  stopped  him  at  the  frontier  ?  And  all  the 
while,  traitor  that  he  is,  he  meant  to  put  him- 
self at  the  head  of  the  nation's  enemies.  He  is 
about  a  span  too  tall,  that  rascal  King!  He 
needs  shortening  —  and  if  the  stomachs  of  the 
Paris  folks  give  out  in  that  matter  we  and  the 
Marseilles  Federals  will  go  up  and  do  the  work 
for  them.  Yes,  we'll  bleed  him  finely  —  just 
under  his  jowls!  And  as  to  his  wife,  his  Aus- 
trian carrion  of  a  wife,  we'll  give  her  a  donkey- 
ride  back-foremost  —  as  she  deserves.  She's 
the  real  traitor;  it's  she  who's  always  egging 


of  ll)*  ittiM.  97 


on  the  King.  And  then  we'll  attend  to  the  tail 
the  King  drags  around  after  him,  the  counts 
and  the  marquises  and  the  court-followers, 
and  we  will  shorten  every  one  of  them  by  the 
same  good  span!" 

All  the  time  that  Vauclair  was  ranting 
away,  while  I  was  standing  stiff  and  watching 
him  and  drinking  in  his  words,  he  was  busy 
getting  the  supper  ready:  setting  the  little 
table  with  three  places,  getting  out  a  big  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  jug  of  wine,  and  then  bringing 
from  the  fire-place  an  earthen  dish  in  which 
was  simmering  gently  a  most  delicious-smell- 
ing stew.  When  all  was  ready  he  looked  into 
the  inner  room  and  then  said  to  me:  "Clair- 
et's  asleep;  and  as  to  Lazuli,  we  won't  wait 
for  her.  Come,  sit  down  and  eat  your  sup- 
per; and  then  get  to  bed  and  asleep  as  fast 
as  you  can.  You'll  be  started  out  early  to- 
morrow, you  know." 

But  just  as  we  were  beginning  on  the 
bread  and  stew  in  came  Lazuli,  quite  excited 
and  very  much  out  of  breath.  "  You  mustn't 
blame  me  for  being  late,"  she  said.  "Of 
course  you  know,  you  good  Vauclair,  that  I've 
only  been  at  the  club.  I've  just  left  there. 
And  you'll  never  guess  what's  happened,  I'm 
sure." 


98  ®l)e  fleb0  of  tl)e  IfliM. 

' '  Then  I  won't  try, "  said  Vauclair.  ' '  What 
is  it  ?  " 

But  instead  of  answering  him  Lazuli  looked 
toward  me  and  said:  "And  so  you've  got  a 
companion.  Isn't  it  the  little  mountain  boy 
who  was  with  us  on  the  steps  of  the  Pope's 
Palace  ?  And  doesn't  he  make  a  nice-looking 
soldier,  to  be  sure !  His  coat's  a  trifle  too  big 
for  him — but  I'll  fix  that  in  no  time.  Sit  down 
now,  my  dear,  and  you  too,  Vauclair,  and  I'll 
tell  you  the  news." 

"Well,  crack  away  then,"  said  Vauclair,  as 
he  helped  the  stew  and  then  cut  a  chunk  of 
bread  off  the  loaf  for  each  of  us.  "What  is 
your  news,  anyway  ?  " 

"It's  bad  news,"  Lazuli  answered.  "It's 
a  letter  from  the  Deputy  Barbaroux  up  at  Paris 
to  the  Federals  at  Marseilles,  his  own  people. 
It  was  read  out  to  us  at  the  club.  It  says  that 
the  Aristos  at  Paris  are  having  things  all  their 
own  way.  That  the  King  won't  allow  the 
battalions  of  Federals  come  up  from  the  coun- 
try to  camp  inside  Paris.  That  the  Paris  men 
are  no  better  than  capons  and  are  turning 
around  to  the  King's  side,  and  that  the  Na- 
tional Guard  of  Paris  can't  be  made  to  do  any- 
thing because  it  is  rotten  to  the  marrow  of  its 
bones.  And  so  Barbaroux  says  that  it's  good- 


of  tl)e  4HiM.  99 


bye  to  the  Revolution  unless  something  is  done 
right  off—  and  he  says  that  the  Reds  of  the 
Midi  must  do  it;  that  our  Federals,  our  sans- 
culottes, down  here  in  the  South,  must  get  out 
their  swords  and  their  guns  and  come  up  to 
Paris  with  the  war-cry  of  Liberty  or  Death!  " 

I  had  taken  three  or  four  mugs  of  wine  —  for 
I  was  very  thirsty,  and  as  fast  as  I  emptied  my 
rnug  Vauclair  filled  it  again  —  and  when  I  heard 
Liberty  or  Death  !  that  way,  it  was  too  much 
for  me.  "  Liberty  or  Death  !  "  I  cried,  standing 
up  and  flourishing  my  knife  in  the  air.  "Lib- 
erty or  Death  !  That  Barbaroux  —  whoever  he 
is  —  is  right.  /  am  one  of  the  Reds  of  the 
Midi!  /  am  a  sans-culotte!  /  am  a  Federal  1 
/  am  one  of  those  he  wants  in  Paris  —  and  I'll 
go!  I'll  get  my  revenge  on  the  Marquis  and 
on  Monsieur  Robert,  and  on  that  devil  of  a 
Surto;  and  I'll  revenge  the  Liberals  who  were 
stabbed  to  death  in  the  hospital,  too.  Now  I 
understand  why  my  father  said  that  the  Mar- 
quis and  Monsieur  Robert  were  going  to  Paris 
to  help  the  King.  But  I'll  go  there  too  —  now 
that  I  have  a  gun.  We'll  all  go  there  with  our 
guns.  Liberty  or  Death!  " 

While  I  shouted  I  seemed  to  see  ever  so 
many  lighted  candles  dancing  on  the  tables. 
Lazuli  looked  lovelier  than  the  golden  angels  on 


ioo  ®|)e  ftcfcs  of  tlje  JJUM. 

the  altar  of  our  church  at  Malemort.  Vauclair 
seemed  as  tall  as  one  of  our  poplars  on  the 
Nesque — and  the  room  seemed  to  be  tipping 
up  on  end ! 

"Bravo,  bravo!"  cried  Vauclair. 

"Bravo!"  cried  the  handsome  Lazuli. 
"Thou  wilt  indeed  be  a  good  Patriot!  Yes, 
we'll  all  go  to  Paris  singing  the  'Carmagnole'; 
and  all  of  us,  all  the  good  Patriots,  will  join 
hands  together  and  dance  around  in  a  great 
brande!  " 

I  don't  remember  well  what  happened  after 
that.  But  I  know  that  we  three — all  by  our- 
selves— made  a  brande  by  joining  hands  and 
dancing  around  the  table  while  we  sang  at  the 
top  of  our  voices  the  famous  song  of  the  free 
montagnards  about  dancing  a  farandole  and 
planting  the  wild  thyme  that  grows  on  the 
mountains  and  is  the  symbol  of  liberty. 

Planten  la  ferigoulo, 

Arrapara. 

Fasen  la  farandoulo 
E  la  mountagno  flourira, 
E  la  mountagno  flourira. 

And  when  the  song  and  our  dance  was  ended, 
Lazuli  led  me  into  the  inner  room,  to  the  straw 
bed  where  her  little  boy  was  sleeping,  and  told 
me  to  lie  down  there.  And  my  head  had  no 


0f  tle  ittibi. 


more  than  touched  the  pillow  than  I  was  sleep- 
ing like  a  log. 

Old  Pascal  stopped  short  and  gave  La  Mie 
a  smack  on  the  shoulder  that  made  her  jump. 
"You're  as  sleepy  as  a  little  cat,  yourself,"  he 
said.  "Get  up  and  go  to  bed.  To-morrow 
we'll  go  at  the  story  again." 

The  clock  in  the  church  steeple  began  to 
strike  twelve.  "  Gosh!  "  cried  Lou  Materoun, 
jumping  up.  "It's  midnight!  What  will  my 
wife  say  to  me  ?  I'll  catch  it  for  a  week!  " 

"Never  mind,  Lou  Materoun,"  said  La  Mie, 
as  she  held  the  light  for  us  in  the  doorway. 
"We  all  know  what  your  wife  is.  You  have 
a  hard  road." 

"Viper  tongue!  "  muttered  my  grandfather 
as  we  went  off  together  in  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"THE   MARSEILLAISE." 

THE  next  day,  being  Sunday,  there  was  no 
meeting  at  the  shoemaker's;  for  on  Sundays 
the  neighbours  spent  their  time  elsewhere. 
The  old  and  the  middle-aged  folk  went  to  the 
Cabaret  Nou,  where  they  played  a  sober  game 
of  bourro  and  drank  each  one  his  little  jug  of 
white  wine.  The  young  and  gay-minded  folk 
ostensibly  went  off  for  a  stroll  in  the  secluded 
valleys  of  our  mountain,  where  they  surrepti- 
tiously gambled  away  their  sous  in  playing  a 
new-fangled  game  of  chance  called  vendome. 
And  I,  who  was  too  little  for  any  such  doings, 
went  to  bed  when  night  came  feeling  as  flat  as 
a  quoit;  and  saying  to  myself:  "Suppose  the 
shoemaker  should  take  a  fancy  to  make  a  holi- 
day of  Monday  too  and  shut  up  his  shop!  " 

Monday  morning  early  I  took  the  longest 

way  to  school,  so  that  I  might  pass  in  front  of 

the  shop;  and   I   was  greatly   reassured   and 

heartened  when,  from  a  long  way  off,  I  saw 

102 


Marseillaise.1'  103 


the  shutters  open  and  heard  the  tap-tapping  of 
hammer  on  sole.  "All  right!"  thought  I. 
"To-night  old  Pascal  will  go  on  with  his 
story." 

That  evening,  in  good  time,  I  was  seated 
on  my  little  bench  in  the  warm  little  shop  — 
which  smelt  as  usual  of  shoemaker's  wax  and 
soaking  leather,  while  overhead  floated  the 
usual  bluish  cloud  of  pipe-smoke. 

Presently  old  Pascal  stepped  over  the  thresh- 
old, and  without  waiting  for  any  one  to  ask 
him  to  begin  he  broke  forth  into  one  of  his 
declamatory  chants: 

All  laws  are  the  work  of  the  rich  for  the  hurt  of  the  needy; 
Always  the  rich  have  too  much,  and  always  the  poor  have 

too  little; 
And  I  say  that  the  man  who  has  more  than  his  share  is  a 

robber! 
I  say  that  of  right  belongs  bread  to  him  who  is  faint  and 

an-hungered; 

That  his  is  the  right  to  seize  it  wherever  he  finds  it  — 
And  the  day  in  which  bread  is  too  scarce  shall  sharp  knives 

be  too  plenty  ! 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  are  you 
driving  at  with  all  that  gabble,  anyway?" 
spoke  up  Lou  Materoun. 

"What  I  am  driving  at,"  Pascal  answered 
as  he  sat  down,  "is  to  tell  you  that  I  can  not 
understand  how  for  century  after  century  men 


104  ®l)e  ftebs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

went  on  starving  and  took  no  thought  of  re- 
venge. You  can  not  even  fancy,  you  who  live 
now-a-days,  what  was  the  lot  of  a  poor  man, 
a  man  of  the  people,  less  than  a  hundred  years 
ago.  But  I,  who  have  felt  it  in  my  body  and 
who  have  seen  it  with  my  eyes,  do  know 
what  it  was;  and  that  is  the  life  I  am  telling 
you  about  now.  And  now  that  you  know 
what  I  am  driving  at,  I'll  go  on  with  my 
story." 

I  went  to  bed  beside  Vauclair's  little  boy 
and  made  but  one  nap  of  the  night,  sleeping 
as  sound  as  a  top  until  morning  came.  I  was 
tired  out,  my  mind  was  easy,  and  I  had  drunk 
a  good  deal  of  strong  wine — and  all  that  joined 
together  to  give  me  the  blessed  soft  sleep  that 
does  one  so  much  good  and  that  is,  perhaps, 
the  best  thing  in  life. 

My  sleep  had  been  so  deep  that  at  the  first 
flowering  of  day,  when  I  saw  the  window-panes 
whitening  with  the  morning  light,  it  was  a  little 
while  before  I  could  tell  where  I  was — or  be 
sure  that  all  that  had  passed  the  day  before 
had  not  been  a  dream.  But  I  knew  it  was  no 
dream  when,  through  the  half-opened  door- 
way, I  saw  Lazuli  in  the  kitchen  hard  at  work 
needle  in  hand;  a  thin  fine  short  needle  that 


"®l)e  Marseillaise."  105 

flashed  and  glanced  like  a  star-ray  between  her 
fingers  as  she  busily  made  over  my  National 
Guard  coat,  spread  out  upon  her  knees. 

Vauclair,  seated  beside  her,  was  cleaning 
my  gun  and  changing  the  flint  in  it;  and  both 
of  them  were  as  quiet  as  mice  so  as  not  to  wake 
me.  But  though  they  said  nothing,  every  now 
and  then  Lazuli  would  turn  toward  her  husband 
and  would  show  him  the  coatsleeve  with  the 
alterations  she  had  made;  and  he,  with  a  nod 
of  his  head,  would  answer:  "Yes,  yes,  that's 
all  right."  Then  Lazuli,  biting  short  the  thread 
with  a  sharp  snap,  would  go  to  work  again. 
She  ended  off  by  polishing  up  the  buttons — 
the  pretty  gilt  buttons,  as  bright  as  those  on 
the  coat  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis  d'Ambrun. 

I  couldn't  bear  to  let  them  think  I  was  still 
asleep;  and,  as  I  did  not  venture  to  speak,  1 
began  to  cough. 

"Eh,"  said  Vauclair,  greatly  pleased,  "so 
he's  awake  " — and  came  on  tip-toe  to  the  door 
of  the  room ;  and  when  he  saw  the  gleam  of 
my  open  eyes  he  added:  "Well,  bad  boy,  and 
so  you're  already  awake.  It's  a  little  too 
early ;  but  no  matter,  get  up  and  try  on  your 
coat." 

Try  on  my  coat!  That  made  me  jump  out 
of  bed  and  into  my  so  longed-for  coat  in  a 


106  ®l)c  Ucbs  of  ll)C 


flash  ;  and  I  swore  it  fitted  me  like  a  ring  fits 
the  finger.  Lazuli,  smiling  as  she  looked  crit- 
ically at  me,  smoothed  down  the  wrinkles 
with  her  hand  ;  for  although  she  had  taken  it 
in  everywhere  it  still  was  big  enough  for  all 
out  of  doors!  She  buttoned  it  and  unbut- 
toned it. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  take  it  in  a  little 
more  under  the  arms,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"It  fits,  it  fits!"  I  cried,  afraid  that  she 
would  make  me  take  it  off. 

Vauclair,  accepting  the  matter  as  settled, 
hung  over  my  shoulders  the  yellow  strap  sup- 
porting my  short  straight  sword  —  shaped  ex- 
actly like  the  tails  of  those  green  crickets  which 
swarm  after  harvest  —  and  as  the  strap  was  a 
large  one  the  sword  hung  pretty  low  and 
banged  against  my  calves.  I  got  into  my  blue 
breeches,  and  buckled  on  my  gaiters  —  which 
were  a  little  too  long  and  too  wide  and  so  came 
well  down  over  my  pretty  shoes.  As  the  final 
touch,  Vauclair  took  up  my  cap  with  its  red 
white  and  blue  cockade.  He  held  it  open  with 
his  outspread  fingers  and  walked  solemnly 
toward  me,  carrying  it  in  front  of  him  rever- 
ently as  it  had  been  the  Host.  Still  holding  it 
open  he  fitted  it  on  my  head,  carefully  arrang- 
ing the  tip  so  that  it  should  fall  over  just  in  the 


fttaraeiUaise."  107 


way  it  is  represented  in  the  busts  of  the  Re- 
public. Then  he  stepped  back  and  gazed  at 
me.  Delighted  with  his  work,  he  clapped  his 
hands  as  he  exclaimed  :  "  There's  a  sans-culotte 
fit  to  fight  in  the  Heavenly  Host!  There's  a 
fellow  to  take  to  Paris  when  we  go  to  make 
the  King  cry  mercy  !  " 

Lazuli  handed  me  my  stuff  jacket  saying, 
"  Look  and  see  what  there  is  in  your  pockets." 
I  timidly  drew  out  the  letter  Monsieur  Randoulet 
had  given  me  for  Monsieur  le  Chanoine  Jusse- 
rand  and  stuffed  it  into  my  coat  pocket  so  as  to 
hide  it  away  ;  for  the  letter  made  me  feel  con- 
fused and  ashamed.  I  did  not  know  exactly 
why,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  bit  of  paper, 
which  had  been  my  only  hope,  now  might 
be  the  cause  of  my  perdition.  And  yet  I  could 
not  help  valuing  it.  I  felt  that  I  must  keep  it, 
so  as  to  touch  it  from  time  to  time  ;  for  then  it 
would  seem  as  though  I  touched  the  soft  kind 
friendly  hand  of  good  Monsieur  Randoulet. 
Out  of  the  other  pocket  I  took  the  three  pretty 
white  crowns  of  three  francs  each.  These  I 
did  not  wish  to  keep.  I  gave  them  to  Lazuli, 
saying,  "Keep  them  for  me,  please."  And 
Lazuli,  putting  them  in  the  little  box  that  held 
her  ornaments  and  locking  them  safe  in  the 
drawer  of  her  cupboard,  answered:  "There, 


io8  ®|e  flefcs  of 


you  see  where  they  are  —  when  you  want  them, 
you  have  only  to  ask  for  them." 

From  that  day  on  I  became  one  of  the  little 
family  in  the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis. 

I  should  tire  you  out  were  I  to  tell  in  detail 
all  that  I  saw  and  all  that  I  did  during  the  five 
or  six  months  that  I  spent  in  Avignon.  Each 
day  at  early  morning  I  was  drilled  with  the 
others  outside  the  city  walls,  with  street-boys 
playing  tip-cat  and  old  people  sunning  them- 
selves around  us.  By  day  or  by  night,  in  all 
weathers,  1  took  my  turn  in  mounting  guard  : 
at  the  door  of  the  Pope's  Palace,  in  front  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  at 
the  Escalier  de  Sainte-Anne,  or  —  and  this  I 
liked  best  of  all  —  by  the  semaphore  on  the  top 
of  the  Rocher  des  Doms.  Hour  after  hour  I 
gaped  at  that  semaphore,  never  tired  of  watch- 
ing its  two  black  arms  whirling  about  so 
strangely  up  there  in  the  air;  arms  which  shut 
themselves  up,  spread  out,  folded  together,  un- 
folded again,  and  opened  and  closed  like  two 
big  razors. 

And  I  saw  good  times  and  bad  times,  stab- 
bings  and  embracings,  murders  and  makings 
up,  excitement  and  sorrow,  sad  doings  and 
gay  doings,  scrimmages,  farandoles,  and  sol- 
emn processions.  Now  the  deep  chant  of  the 


ittarseillaise."  109 


Te  Deum  rang  out,  now  the  gay  notes  of  the 
"Carmagnole."  The  De  Profundis  would  be 
solemnly  intoned  while  the  "  £a  ira  "  was 
howling  out  from  excited  throats. 

Sometimes  one  party,  sometimes  the  other, 
would  get  the  upper  hand  ;  one  day  it  was  the 
Reds,  the  Patriots,  another  day  the  Whites, 
the  Anti-Patriots.  We  often  had  to  hurry  to 
separate  them  —  in  one  or  another  parish  the 
alarm-bell  was  ringing  all  the  time.  And 
whenever  we  came  back  to  barracks  from  drill 
or  from  guard-mount  or  from  quieting  a  row, 
whether  by  day  or  by  night,  each  man  had  his 
little  flask  of  cordial-wine  and  his  three  ounces 
of  massopain  ;  and  so  wild  were  the  times,  so 
often  were  we  out  on  service,  that  we  fairly 
could  count  on  getting  our  three  flasks  a  day 
—  so  we  were  pretty  well  pampered  with  our 
cake  and  wine.  And  always  in  the  evenings 
those  of  us  who  were  off  duty  spent  our  time 
at  the  club  —  where  we  could  hear  the  last 
news  from  Paris  and  Marseilles. 

One  day  I  was  stationed  at  the  Porte  du 
Rhone  on  guard  over  the  Liberty  Tree  planted 
there  by  the  Reds,  which  the  Whites  from  the 
streets  of  the  Fusterie  had  tried  to  pull  down. 
It  was  about  the  end  of  June,  right  in  the 
midst  of  the  harvest.  I  am  sure  of  the  season 


no  ®|je  Bcbs  of  the  IHiM. 

because  the  Liberty  Tree  was  full  of  cigales, 
who  were  making  a  deafening  noise — as  is 
their  custom  in  mid-harvest — with  their  song: 
"Sego,  sego,  sego!  Sickle,  sickle,  sickle!" 
I  was  watching  for  a  chance  to  catch  a  cigale 
for  Lazuli's  little  boy,  when  suddenly  the  alarm- 
bell  rang  out  from  the  bell-tower  of  the  Augus- 
tines;  and  a  minute  later  a  man  pale  as  plaster 
came  tearing  down  the  Rue  de  la  Fusterie 
shouting  as  he  ran:  "Save  yourselves!  Save 
yourselves!  The  Marseilles  brigands  are  com- 
ing! Call  home  your  children!  Bar  your 
doors  and  windows!  The  robbers  and  mur- 
derers and  galley-slaves  are  coming!  We're 
all  lost!"  and,  still  shouting,  the  pale  man  ran 
round  into  the  Rue  du  Limas  and  disappeared 
in  the  direction  of  the  Porte  de  1'Oulle. 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  the  washwomen,  who 
were  at  work  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  all 
scamper  away!  They  left  behind  them  their 
bundles  of  linen,  their  shirts  outspread  to  dry. 
They  left  aprons,  baskets,  jugs  and  buckets. 
Frightened  as  though  a  mad  dog  were  after 
them,  or  as  if  a  wild  bull  had  got  loose,  scream- 
ing, flourishing  their  arms,  they  tore  into  their 
houses — and  for  a  moment,  in  the  whole 
quarter  of  the  Porte  du  Rhone,  nothing  could 
be  heard  but  the  noise  of  doors  and  win- 


ic  Marseillaise."  m 


dows  banging  to  and  of  clattering  bolts  and 
bars! 

But  from  the  other  side,  that  of  the  Porte 
de  la  Ligne,  rose  up  a  great  clamour  of  joyous 
cries  and  songs : 

Dansons  la  Carmagnole! 
Vive  le  son!  Vive  le  son! 

Then  loud  hand-clappings  and  exclamations 
of  joy,  and  tambourins  beginning  to  beat  the 
farandole;  and  at  the  same  moment  the  alarm- 
bell  rang  again. 

"Good  Heavens !"  said  I,  when  the  alarm 
sounded,  "I  must  be  off;  "  and  "One!  Two!" 
up  went  my  gun  on  my  shoulder.  "Right 
about,  face  " — and  away  I  went  at  a  quick-step 
to  join  the  Corps  de  Garde  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville. 

What  an  uproar!  The  whole  Place  de 
I'Horloge,  blazing  with  sunlight,  was  crammed 
full  of  people,  all  talking  and  shouting  and 
gesticulating  at  once;  while  Vauclair,  in  front 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  was  getting  into  line  the 
men  of  the  Garde  Nationale.  Drawn  together 
by  the  sound  of  the  alarm-bell,  they  were  run- 
ning in  from  all  the  streets — some  of  them  only 
partly  dressed,  their  straps  thrown  over  their 
shoulders,  their  guns  tucked  under  their  arms, 

9 


of  tlC  HUM. 


buttoning  their  breeches  as  they  ran;  and  here 
and  there  was  a  running  woman  carrying  her 
half-breeched  husband's  gun. 

No  one  seemed  to  know  what  had  hap- 
pened. Some  cried:  "It's  the  Whites,  the 
Papalists,  come  from  Carpentras  to  fight  us." 
Others  answered:  "No,  it's  the  peasants  from 
Gadagne  who  have  risen  against  their  lord  and 
are  bringing  him  here  a  prisoner."  I  could 
make  nothing  of  what  I  heard'  as  I  pressed 
through  the  crowd  to  take  my  place  in  line. 
Vauclair,  who  was  the  sergeant  on  guard  that 
day,  saw  me  coming  and  called  out  sharply  : 
"  Why  are  you  so  behindhand  ?  Hurry,  hurry! 
Lord's  Law,  man,  hurry!" 

"What's  it  all  about  ?  "  I  asked  as  I  fell  in. 

"What's  it  all  about  ?"  repeated  Vauclair. 
"It  is  that  the  King  of  France  is  a  traitor!" 
—  and  turning  toward  the  crowd  and  brandish- 
ing his  long  sabre  he  cried  loudly:  "  We  are 
betrayed  by  our  King!"  And  then,  speak- 
ing to  us  of  the  Guard,  he  went  on:  "The 
Marseilles  Battalion,  on  its  way  to  Paris,  passes 
through  Avignon.  We  are  going  now  to  wel- 
come these  brave  Federals  —  Vive  la  Nation  !  " 

"  Vive  la  Nation!  "  answered  the  Guard. 

"  Vive  la  Nation!  "  rose  up  the  voice  of  the 
swarming  crowd  in  a  formidable  shout. 


113 


And  then  came:  "Forward,  march!"  —  and 
off  we  started  for  the  Porte  du  Limbert,  all  of 
us  roaring  together  : 

Dance  we  the  Carmagnole, 

Hurrah  for  the  roar,  the  roar,  the  roar! 

Dance  we  the  Carmagnole, 

Hurrah  for  the  roar  the  cannon  roar! 

Men,  women,  children,  old  and  young,  with 
one  voice  joined  in  the  chorus  —  "Dansons  la 
Carmagnole  !  "  The  windows  fairly  rattled  as 
we  swept  along. 

In  the  narrow  streets  of  the  Bonneterie  and 
of  the.  Water-wheels  there  must  have  been  at 
least  ten  thousand  people  packed  so  tight  that 
they  were  fairly  one  on  top  of  the  other;  and 
when  those  near  the  Porte  du  Limbert  were  at 
"Dansons  la  Carmagnole!  "  from  the  other  end, 
up  near  the  Rue  Rouge,  rang  out  the  words 
"  Vive  le  son  du  canon!"  Mixed  in  with  the 
words  of  the  chorus  were  shouts  of  "Vive  la 
Nation  !  "  and  '  '  Vive  les  Marseillais  !  "  The  con- 
fusion and  uproar  were  overpowering.  When 
I  looked  backward  I  could  see  nothing  but 
open  mouths,  and  eyes  starting  out  of  heads 
that  touched  each  other. 

When  this  torrent  of  humanity  had  poured 
itself  out  of  the  porch  of  the  Porte  du  Limbert 
we  of  the  Guard  ranged  ourselves  outside  the 


ii4  ®l)e  Uebs  of  tl)C  .fttibi. 

ramparts  in  two  lines  facing  inward,  ready  to 
present  arms  to  the  Marseilles  Battalion  when 
it  should  pass  between  our  files;  and  scarcely 
were  we  halted  and  in  line  when  a  swarm 
of  children  came  running  toward  us  from  the 
Chemin  de  la  Coupe  d'Or  screaming:  "Here 
they  are!  Here  they  are!  " 

And  then  around  the  turn  of  the  road,  brave 
in  their  red-plumed  cocked-hats,  appeared 
Commandant  Moisson  and  Captain  Gamier. 
On  seeing  us  they  drew  their  long  sickle-like 
sabres,  faced  about  upon  the  Battalion,  and 
cried:  "Vive  la  Nation!" — and  instantly  the 
men  fell  into  marching-step  and  all  together 
burst  forth  with 

Allons  enfants  de  la  Patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! 

It  was  the  "  Marseillaise  "  that  they  were  sing- 
ing; and  that  glorious  hymn,  heard  then  for  the 
first  time,  stirred  us  down  to  the  very  marrow 
of  our  bones! 

On  they  came — a  big  fellow  carrying  at 
their  head  a  banner  on  which  was  painted  in 
red  letters :  "  The  Rights  of  Man  " ;  and  if  any 
person  looked  askance  at  that  banner  the  big 
fellow  seized  him  in  a  moment  and  made  him 
kiss  it  on  his  knees!  On  they  came — we  pre- 


Marseillaise."  115 


sented  arms  and  they  passed  between  our  files, 
still  singing  the  "Marseillaise." 

Oh  what  a  sight  it  was!  Five  hundred 
men  sun-burnt  as  locust-beans,  with  black 
eyes  blazing  like  live  coals  under  bushy  eye- 
brows all  white  with  the  white  dust  of  the 
road.  They  wore  green  cloth  coats  turned 
back  with  red,  like  mine;  but  farther  than  that 
their  uniform  did  not  go.  Some  had  on  cocked 
hats  with  waving  cock's  feathers,  some  red 
liberty-caps  with  the  strings  flying  back  over 
their  shoulders  and  the  tri-colour  cockade 
perched  over  one  ear.  Each  man  had  stuck  in 
the  barrel  of  his  gun  a  willow  or  a  poplar 
branch  to  shelter  him  from  the  sun,  and  all  this 
greenery  cast  warm  dancing  shadows  over 
their  faces  that  made  the  look  of  them  still 
more  fantastic  and  strange.  And  when  from 
all  those  red  mouths  —  wide  open  as  a  wolf's 
jaws,  with  teeth  gleaming  white  like  a  wild 
beast's  teeth  —  burst  forth  the  chorus  "  Aux 
armes,  citoyens!  "  it  fairly  made  a  shiver  run  all 
down  one's  spine!  Two  drums  marked  step 
—  Pran!  rran!  rran!  "  Aliens  enfants  de  la  Pa- 
trie!"  The  whole  Battalion  passed  onward 
and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  city  gate. 

As  it  disappeared  we  heard  a  strange  noise 
like  the  clanking  of  chains  or  the  rattle  of  loose 


u6  <£!)<»  ftefcs  of  tlje  JttiM. 

iron;  and  then  came  four  men  hauling  after 
them  a  rusty  truck  on  which  was  a  cannon. 
These  men  were  harnessed  to  the  truck  as  are 
oxen  to  the  plough,  and  like  oxen  pulled  from 
head  and  shoulders.  With  every  muscle  at 
full  stretch,  and  with  sweat  dripping  from 
them  like  rain,  they  bent  forward  with  all  their 
might  to  their  heavy  task.  Rumble  and  bang 
went  the  truck  over  the  cobble-stones  and 
into  the  ruts,  making  a  tremendous  noise  as  it 
jolted  up  and  down  and  from  side  to  side. 
Following  this  truck  came  another  and  still 
another;  the  last  having  on  it  an  immense 
pair  of  bellows,  a  big  wooden  tub  full  of 
clay,  a  great  thing  that  looked  like  a  caul- 
dron, and  pincers,  hammers  and  tongs.  This 
was  the  forge — for  the  repair  of  the  guns,  for 
the  casting  of  balls,  and  for  heating  balls  red 
hot  before  they  should  be  fired.  It  took  more 
than  four  men  to  drag  this  great  mass — all 
straining  forward  like  beasts  of  burden,  the 
sinews  of  their  calves  starting  and  their  feet  so 
gripping  the  street  that  the  nails  in  their  shoes 
struck  out  sparks  from  the  stones.  Gasping 
though  they  were  for  breath,  and  almost 
spent  with  weariness,  yet  they  too  as  they 
passed  through  our  ranks  raised  their  heads 
and  with  hoarse  strangled  voices  shouted 


117 


with  the  clipped  Marseilles  accent:  "Vivo  la 
Nacien!" 

The  blaze  and  glitter  of  sunshine,  the 
whirlwinds  of  dust,  the  smell  of  thot  human 
flesh,  the  rattle  of  drums,  the  clanking  of  iron, 
the  singing  and  shouting  —  all  this  so  dazed  and 
transported  me,  so  carried  me  away,  that  I, 
Pascal,  though  I  knew  not  why,  felt  tears  as 
big  as  filberts  rolling  down  my  cheeks  as  I  pre- 
sented arms! 

When  in  the  wake  of  the  Battalion  the 
cannon  and  forge  had  passed  by  us,  we  came 
to  a  shoulder,  closed  up,  and  fell  in  at  the  rear. 
Far  off  ahead  the  rattling  drums  beat  the  quick- 
step; the  Marseilles  men  sang  "  Allons  enfants 
de  la  Patrie  "  ;  and  we  and  all  the  crowd  joined 
in  the  chorus  that  we  already  had  picked  up: 
"  Aux  armes,  citoyens!  " 

Our  backward  line  of  march  was  through 
the  street  of  the  Water-wheels,  the  Place  du 
Change,  under  the  walls  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Popes,  and  so  into  the  Rue  de  la  Banasterie  to 
the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis  —  where  the  Patriots 
had  their  club  in  what  had  been  the  chapel  of 
the  Violet  Penitents.  But  as  we  were  turning 
the  corner  by  the  Rue  des  Encans  we  were 
stopped  short,  and  around  us  we  heard  the 
people  exclaiming  that  there  was  a  halt  ahead 


ii 8  ®J)e  ftcfts  of  tt)e  ittiM. 

that  no  one  could  understand.  Some  said  that 
a  Papalist  had  stabbed  the  Marseilles  Com- 
mandant. Under  Vauclair's  command,  a  dozen 
of  us  pushed  rapidly  through  the  crowd  to  find 
out  what  was  the  matter,  and  to  do  what- 
ever might  be  necessary  to  restore  order.  The 
trouble  proved  to  be  around  the  banner  of  The 
Rights  of  Man. 

In  the  narrowest  part  of  the  Rue  Sainte 
Catherine  the  procession  had  met,  returning 
from  his  vesper  service  at  the  Carmelites,  an 
old  Canon  followed  by  his  old  serving- woman ; 
and  when  the  lean  old  Canon  saw  the  banner 
he  turned  up  his  nose  at  it  and  drew  to  a  point 
his  ill-natured  muzzle  in  open  contempt;  and, 
worse  than  this,  he  actually  cleared  his  throat 
and  spit  right  at  the  feet  of  the  b'anner-bearer! 
Furious  at  seeing  the  New  Law  so  despised,  its 
apostle  had  caught  the  poor  old  Canon  by  the 
nape  of  his  neck,  had  forced  him  down  to  his 
knees  on  the  stones  and,  thrusting  the  banner 
against  his  face,  had  tried  to  make  him  kiss  it 
by  force ;  but  old  skin-and-bones  had  struggled 
hard  against  this  humiliation,  and  his  servant 
had  come  screaming  and  scratching  to  his  aid. 
The  crowd  shouted:  "To  the  Rhone  with  the 
Papalist!"  "To  the  Rhone  with  the  Anti- 
Patriot!" 


"f£l)e  Marseillaise."  119 

Just  as  we  came  on  the  ground  the  Federal 
snatched  up  the  Canon,  who  was  as  dry  as  a 
whip-handle,  and  tucked  him  under  his  arm — 
kicking  and  struggling,  with  legs  and  arms 
outspread  like  a  frog  in  a  heron's  beak.  Then 
the  drums  took  up  the  march,  and  again  rang 
out  "Aliens  enfants  de  la  Patrie!"  The  Fed- 
eral marched  off  in  front,  one  arm  holding  up 
his  banner,  the  kicking  Canon  gripped  fast 
under  the  other  like  a  bundle  of  foolishness, 
and  after  him  the  old  servant — who  hung  on 
with  all  her  might  to  her  master,  trying  to  set 
him  free.  Why  that  dried  up  old  man  did  not 
snap  like  a  pipe-stem  between  them,  I  am  sure 
I  don't  know! 

And  who  was  the  most  astonished  person 
of  all  there  ?  Why  I — for  the  old  Canon  was 
none  other  than  Monsieur  Jusserand,  to  whom 
Monsieur  Randoulet  had  given  me  the  letter; 
and  the  old  serving-woman  was  the  very 
woman  who  had  torn  off  my  cockade  the  day 
I  knocked  at  his  door  in  the  Rue  du  Limas! 

On  we  went  until  we  'entered  the  club- 
room  that  had  been  the  chapel  of  the  Violet 
Penitents.  There  the  Federal  dumped  the 
Canon  on  what  had  been  the  steps  of  the  main 
altar,  and  then  he  and  Commandant  Moisson 
and  Vauclair  all  sat  down  on  the  altar  table 


120  ®l)e  ftebs  of  ll)e  ittibi. 

with  their  legs  dangling  in  a  row.  We  of  the 
Guard,  with  a  few  Avignon  Patriots,  formed 
our  line  to  keep  the  crowd  back  while  they 
spoke;  and  there  was  such  pushing  and  strug- 
gling to  get  into  the  little  chapel  that  its  walls 
fairly  shook — and  all  the  while  the  drums  went 
on  beating  and  thousands  of  voices  sang,  or 
rather  howled :  "Auxarmes,  citoyens!" 

The  Federal  who  carried  the  banner  of  The 
Rights  of  Man  stood  up  on  the  altar — a  great 
long  man,  as  thin  as  Pontius  Pilate — and  he 
was  a  sight  to  behold  standing  there  in  his  hob- 
nailed shoes,  his  bare  calves,  his  coat  entirely 
too  tight  for  him,  and  his  bristling  beard  pow- 
dered white  with  road-dust!  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  feather  and  roughly  stuck  it  on  the 
bald  pate  of  poor  Canon  Jusserand,  who  was 
crouched  on  the  altar  steps  all  in  a  heap,  more 
dead  than  alive.  Wiping  his  forehead  with 
his  coat  sleeve,  the  Federal  made  a  sign  that  he 
was  going  to  read  The  Rights  of  Man.  The 
drums  stopped  beating  and  a  great  silence  fell 
over  all;  and  then  the  Federal,  with  his  mincing 
Marseilles  accent,  read  out  to  us  the  New  Law : 

All  men  are  born  free,  and  the  birth-rights  of  all  men  are 
equal. 

All  alike  make  the  laws;  all  alike  are  the  rulers  and  gov- 
erned. 


iJlarsnllaise."  121 


Broken  the  chains  are,  wide  open  the  doors  of  the  prisons. 
Masters  exist  not.    No  more  are  there  slaves  to  be  burthened. 
Each  man  has  his  share  of  the  earth  that  begot  and  will 

claim  him; 
Each  man  sows  his  crop,  and  each  sower  shall  garner  his 

harvest. 
In  all  things  to  all  men  is  freedom  —  in  acts  and  in  thoughts 

and  convictions. 

Ended  the  day  is  of  King  and  of  Marquis  and  lordling. 
Who  aforetime  toiled  mole-like  in  darkness  at  will  of  his 

masters 
Stands  erect  in  the  light,  and  is  governed  alone  by  his 

reason. 
Vive  la  Nation! 

Then  the  Federal  got  down  from  the  altar, 
seized  the  Canon  by  the  throat,  and  this  time 
fairly  forced  the  banner  to  his  lips.  But  the 
old  stock-fish,  who  was  not  of  the  sort  to  stay 
conquered,  no  sooner  felt  himself  let  loose 
again  than  with  a  look  of  contempt  he  once 
more  spat  against  the  banner  —  and  so  pretty 
well  cancelled  his  kiss.  At  this  fresh  insult 
the  big  Federal  was  quite  beside  himself  with 
rage.  Like  a  flash  he  pounced  upon  the  Canon, 
held  him  for  a  moment  by  the  scruff  of  his 
neck  and  the  folds  of  his  long  gown,  and  then 
with  a  tremendous  kick  sent  him  flying  over 
the  heads  of  those  nearest  the  altar  into  the 
thick  of  the  crowd.  There  was  a  shout  of 
satisfaction,  and  then  away  went  the  Canon 


122  ®|)e  ttefcs  of  ll)e  4JUM. 

through  the  air  from  one  pair  of  hands  to  an- 
other: now  right  side  forward,  now  hind  part 
before,  now  spinning  around  and  around. 
And  so — like  a  plank  in  the  Rhone,  whirling 
in  the  eddies  but  always  going  forward — he 
was  flung  hither  and  thither  over  the  upturned 
faces  until  at  last  he  was  shot  out  of  the  door. 
And  I  must  tell  you,  strange  though  it  may 
seem,  that  seeing  him  thus  abused  hurt  me  in 
my  heart — because  I  still  had  in  my  pocket 
that  letter  to  him  from  good  Monsieur  Randou- 
let,  and  I  felt  as  though  an  affront  had  been 
put  upon  bur  good  Cure  at  Malemort. 

What  became  of  the  Canon  I  don't  know. 
No  one  paid  any  more  attention  to  him;  for  at 
that  moment  Vauclair  stood  up  on  the  altar 
and  began  to  read  out — in  order  to  make  the 
people  more  clearly  understand  how  good  and 
great  was  the  cause  of  the  Revolution — the 
laws  and  ordinances  with  which  the  Pope's 
Vice  Legate  so  long  had  tied  down  and  muzzled 
the  people  of  Avignon : 

The  poor  man  may  moan,  but  the  poor  man  must  pay, 
Or  he  goes  and  he  rots  on  the  galley  bench — 
While  he  who  carries  or  pistol  or  dagger 
Will  have  a  hemp  necklace  about  his  throat. 
Whoso  speaks  of  the  Legate  or  the  Legate's  affairs, 
If  not  by  the  Legate  condemned  to  die, 
Ten  years  in  the  galleys  with  robbers  spends. 


iHarseiUaise."  123 


The  man  who  cries  "Rescue!"  or  "To  arms!",  or  who 

dares 

By  a  picture  or  a  carving  to  offend  the  Legate, 
Will  lose  his  life  and  forfeit  his  goods! 

"Oh  come  now,  you  can't  mean  us  to  be- 
lieve all  that,"  exclaimed  Lou  Materoun;  who, 
unable  to  keep  his  feelings  to  himself,  broke 
into  old  Pascal's  chanted  recital. 

"Then  I'm  a  liar,  am  I  ?"  snorted  old  Pas- 
cal; and  he  glared  so  savagely  at  Lou  Materoun 
that  the  big  man,  too  abashed  to  venture  upon 
an  answer,  made  himself  as  small  as  he  could  on 
the  bench  and  with  eyes  downcast  flicked  the 
ashes  off  his  pipe  on  the  floor  between  his  knees. 

"  It  is  so  true,"  said  Pascal,  pacified  by  Lou 
Materoun's  meekness,  "that  I  could  show  it  to 
you  printed  in  a  book.  I  have  heard  many  of 
these  laws  and  ordinances,  and  I  cannot  re- 
member them  all;  but  some  of  them  I  do  re- 
member —  and  they  were  the  laws,  mark  you, 
of  my  own  time.  It  was  forbidden  to  go  out 
after  the  curfew  had  rung;  and  whosoever 
broke  this  law,  and  also  carried  with  him  a 
dark-lantern,  was  liable  to  have  all  his  joints 
pulled  apart  in  the  strappado  three  times  run- 
ning —  or  he  might  even  be  outlawed  from  the 
Comtat,  at  the  Vice  Legate's  will.  It  was  for- 
bidden to  compose,  to  write,  to  sing  or  to 


124  $l)e  Ueb0  of 


cause  to  be  sung,  any  songs  that  had  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  politics;  and  whoever 
broke  this  law  might  be  sent  for  ten  years  to 
the  galleys  and  might  have  confiscated  the  half 
of  his  estates." 

"  Whew!  "  exclaimed  the  cobbler.  "  That 
wasn't  anybody's  twenty  sous  fine  —  as  it  is 
now-a-days." 

Pascal  continued:  "And  what  will  you  all 
say  when  I  tell  you  that  did  the  Vice  Legate 
still  reign  we  all  could  be  taken  out  and  strung 
up  in  a  row  for  the  crime  of  assembling  here 
together  ?  Such  was  the  law  —  to  which  always 
was  added  :  '  If  it  be  the  good  pleasure  of  the 
Legate  '  !  " 

''Lord  alive!"  put  in  Lou  Materoun,  this 
time  flicking  off  his  ashes  properly  into  the 
coal-tub,  "I'm  glad  I  waited  a  while  before  I 
was  born  !  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  just 
for  sitting  together  this  way  in  company  the 
Pope's  soldiers  could  have  come  in  and  jugged 
us  ?  Then  in  those  days  men  were  not  men  ?  " 

"They  were  men,  as  thou  and  I  are  men," 
answered  Pascal.  '  '  But  enough  of  that  —  those 
times  are  gone!  " 

Well,  when  Vauclair  had  finished  reading 
out  the  Vice  Legate's  Laws,  the  crowd  went 


125 


hoarse  with  its  shouting  of  "Vive  la  Nation! 
Vive  la  Revolution!"  The  women  —  huck- 
sters, washwomen,  silkweavers  —  all  with 
Catalan  caps  and  tricolour  cockades,  were 
more  wildly  excited  and  made  more  noise  than 
the  men.  They  yelled,  they  screamed  —  and 
many  of  them  flung  themselves  on  the  neck  of 
the  big  Federal  who  carried  The  Rights  of  Man 
and  fairly  suffocated  him  with  kisses. 

In  the  thick  of  this  confusion  a  big  coarse 
woman,  a  tripe-seller  called  La  Jacarasse,  came 
rushing  forward  —  her  hair  streaming  loose  over 
her  shoulders,  her  cap  awry  and  its  untied 
strings  flying  behind  her  —  carrying  in  one  hand 
a  long  knife  and  in  the  other  a  big  bag  of 
coarsely  woven  straw.  She  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  altar  like  a  wild-cat,  making  a  great 
display  of  stockingless  legs,  and  when  she  had 
scrambled  to  her  feet  she  flourished  her  knife 
and  bag  screaming:  "  You  see  this  here  knife  ? 
For  fifty  years  it  has  ripped  up  pigs  —  last  year 
it  ripped  up  that  cursed  jade  of  an  Aristocrat 
who  jabbed  her  scissors  into  Patriot  Lescuyer's 
face  when  the  Papalists  were  killing  him  in  the 
church  of  the  Cordeliers.  You  see  this  here 
bag  ?  In  it  I  carried  her  liver  and  lights  and 
hung  'em  on  the  latch  of  the  Vice  Legate's 
palace  —  same  as  the  old  devil  did  himself  with 


i26  ®|)e  ftebs  of  tlje  Jttibi. 

the  innards  of  Patriots  he'd  ordered  killed." 
And  then,  turning  to  the  Federal  who  was 
holding  the  banner  of  The  Rights  of  Man,  she 
plumped  two  big  kisses  on  his  cheeks.  The 
crowd  applauded  loudly;  and  "Vive  la  Na- 
tion!" shouted  the  Federal — but  holding  his 
nose,  for  the  tripe-woman  smelt  vilely  of  her 
trade. 

The  drums  rolled  again  and  Vauclair  stood 
up  straight  in  the  very  place  where  the  taber- 
nacle had  been,  and  cried  out  as  he  flourished 
his  hat  on  the  tip  of  his  sabre:  "To  defend 
The  Rights  of  Man  and  to  drag  down  the  ty- 
rant, I  enroll  myself  as  a  volunteer  in  the  Mar- 
seilles Battalion! " 

In  a  moment  we  all  were  crazy  with  en- 
thusiasm, the  drums  rattled  their  approval  as 
if  they  would  burst,  every  arm  was  waving  in 
the  air,  the  Marseilles  men  shrieked  "Long 
live  the  Avignon  Patriots !  "  and  in  turn  we 
shrieked  "Long  live  the  Marseilles  Federals!" 
That  was  too  much  for  me!  For  a  moment 
everything  went  spinning  around  and  around; 
and  then,  without  at  all  knowing  how  I  did  it, 
I  suddenly  found  myself  standing  on  top  of  the 
altar,  my  red  cap  hoisted  on  top  of  my  gun, 
screaming  at  the  top  of  my  voice:  "Death  to 
the  tyrant!  I  too  volunteer  into  the  Marseilles 


127 


Battalion!"  And  Zou!  the  drums,  and  Zou! 
the  shrieks  "Vive  les  Patriotes  !  "  "Vive  les 
Federes  !  " 

Far  up  in  a  corner  of  the  chapel  I  caught 
sight  of  Lazuli,  her  little  boy  up  on  her  shoul- 
der, both  clapping  hands  and  screaming: 
"Bravo,  Pascalet!  Bravo!"  As  I  pitched 
down  from  the  altar  Commandant  Moisson 
caught  me  in  his  arms,  and  with  a  kiss  on  each 
cheek  accepted  my  enlistment  among  his  Mar- 
seillais.  And  then,  louder  than  ever,  rattlety- 
bang  went  the  drums! 

The  meeting  was  over.  Some  good  Pa- 
triots, they  were  porters  down  by  the  river 
gates,  called  out:  "To  the  Porte  de  la  Ligne! 
There  is  cool  wine  there!  " 

"To  the  Porte  de  la  Ligne!  To  the  Porte 
de  la  Ligne!"  shouted  the  crowd;  and  the 
Battalion,  falling  into  line  and  followed  by  the 
cannon  and  the  forge,  went  down  to  the 
Rhone  —  where  there  was  enough  bread  and 
wine  and  olives  and  nuts  and  garlic  for  all  the 
world!  We  ate,  drank,  sang  and  danced  I 
don't  know  how  long.  The  great  heat  of  the 
day  was  over,  and  the  tambourins  untiringly 
beat  the  farandole.  But  I  was  so  stuck  up 
with  being  enrolled  in  the  Marseilles  Battalion 
that  I  felt  bound  to  behave  like  a  grown  man. 


ftebs  of  the  fttibi. 


I  scorned  dance  and  song  and  victuals;  I  went 
swaggering  from  one  group  to  another;  I  talked 
to  the  Marseilles  men  and  made  acquaintance 
with  them,  drinking  a  glass  with  one  and 
touching  cups  with  another. 

But  one  thing  bothered  me  dreadfully  —  I 
was  so  very  young!  Those  to  whom  I  spoke 
said:  "  Good  for  you,  little  cock!  What's  your 
name?"  and  then  every  one  of  them  added: 
"How  old  are  you?"  I  answered  them  all 
bravely,  trying  to  mince  my  words  as  they 
did:  "My  name's  Pascalet,  I  must  be  more 
than  sixteen  years  old  "  —  and  in  order  to  look 
the  age  I  gave  myself  I  stood  up  as  straight 
as  I  could  on  my  toes.  I  felt  and  felt  the  cor- 
ners of  my  mouth.  But  my  moustache  couldn't 
be  made  to  sprout  by  feeling  for  it.  There 
wasn't  a  single  hair!  However,  as  the  mous- 
tache was  impossible,  I  tried  my  best  in  other 
ways  to  look  like  the  men  of  the  Battalion.  I 
stuck  a  bit  of  willow  in  the  muzzle  of  my  gun; 
and  in  order  to  be  as  grimy  as  possible  I  dragged 
my  feet  in  the  dust.  Had  I  dared.  I  would  have 
rolled  over  and  over  in  the  road  ! 

Suddenly  I  realized  that  it  was  a  long  time 
since  I  had  seen  Vauclair,  and  I  wondered 
where  he  could  be.  While  I  was  hunting  for 
him,  forcing  my  way  as  well  as  I  could  through 


JttarseiUuise."  129 


the  closely  pressed  throng,  1  heard  just  behind 
me  the  lively  cracking  of  a  whip  and  the  jin- 
gling of  bells  ;  and  as  1  turned  I  saw  a  two-horse 
carriage  struggling  to  get  through  the  crowd. 
It  already  was  so  close  upon  me  that  I  could 
feel  the  horses'  noses  sniffling  on  the  back  of 
my  neck;  and  in  a  hurry,  with  the  others,  I 
stood  aside  to  let  it  pass. 

But,  Saints  above  !  what  did  I  see  ?  It  was 
the  carriage  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis  !  Big  Surto. 
in  coachman's  dress,  was  driving;  and,  still 
stranger,  there  beside  him  on  the  box  was  my 
father,  my  poor  old  father!  His  face  still  was 
marked  with  the  weals  of  the  whip-strokes; 
he  was  bunched  together  all  of  a  heap,  looking 
sick  and  poor  and  thin,  and  so  frightened  at  all 
the  crowd  of  dancing  and  singing  soldiers  that 
to  see  him  hurt  my  heart.  But  at  the  sight  of 
big  Surto's  hard  face  I  trembled  all  over  and 
was  dumbfoundered.  The  carriage  rolled  softly 
along,  and  inside  I  saw  the  Marquise  Adelaide, 
pretty  Adeline  with  her  gentle  eyes,  and  Mon- 
sieur Robert;  and  down  in  one  corner,  looking 
no  bigger  than  an  onion,  was  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis d'Ambrun.  I  looked  again  toward  the 
box  so  as  to  be  certain  that  it  was  my  father  I 
had  seen,  and  my  eyes  met  wicked  Surto's 
wolf's  eyes  —  which  plunged  into  me  like  two 


of 


knives  and  seemed  to  say:  "I've  got  you  this 
time,  sure!" 

The  carriage  passed,  and  the  crowd  surged 
together  behind  it  and  went  on  with  the  faran- 
dole  and  dance.  But  I,  thunderstruck,  did  not 
know  of  what  wood  to  make  arrows. 

It  was  against  all  sense  of  right  to  let  my 
father  go  that  way  without  speaking  to  him. 
But  I  knew  that  if  I  went  to  him  I  was  lost: 
big  Surto's  eyes  had  told  me  that  only  too 
plainly.  And  yet  —  my  father!  A  sob  came 
up  into  my  throat!  Not  knowing  what  to  do, 
I  started  off  again  in  search  of  Vauclair.  With 
him  to  back  me  I  feared  no  one;  with  him  I 
could  go  to  see  my  old  father  and  be  sure  that 
Surto  would  do  me  no  harm.  I  searched  and 
searched;  but  Vauclair  was  nowhere  to  be 
found  —  and  as  I  stood  on  tip-toe  to  see  if  I 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  red  plume  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd  a  heavy  hand  dropped  on 
my  shoulder  with  a  nip  like  a  vice. 

I  turned  —  it  was  Surto  !  As  soon  as  he  had 
taken  the  carriage  out  of  the  press  he  had  given 
the  reins  to  Monsieur  Robert  and,  bringing  my 
simple-hearted  father  with  him,  had  come  after 
me  instantly  —  so  that  I  should  not  escape  him 
again.  I  tried  to  wriggle  out  of  his  clutch,  but 
his  fingers  were  iron  hooks  strong  enough  to 


131 


break  my  shoulder.  "Come  along,"  said  he. 
"Come  before  the  Commantant.  Your  farder 
is  going  to  take  you  back  home." 

"I  won't  go,"  I  cried.  "I  am  free.  I've 
enlisted  as  a  volunteer!  "  and  again  1  tried  to 
break  away.  But  Surto  dragged  me  off  by 
main  force;  while  my  old  father  limped  along 
behind  us,  muttering:  "Yes,  yes,  you  good- 
for-nothing  boy,  you  must  come  home.  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis  has  said  so — and  that  set- 
tles it." 

Commandant  Moisson  was  not  far  off;  and 
seeing  that  there  was  a  disturbance  of  some 
sort  he  called  out,  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  and 
came  toward  Surto. 

"The  matter  is  that  this  rascal  has  been 
playing  truant;  and  his  old  farder  here  vants 
to  make  him  go  home,  vere  his  old  mother  is 
crying  her  eyes  out  because  he  has  run 
avay." 

The  Commandant  frowned  at  me  sternly. 
"You  little  scamp,"  said  he  "is  this  the  way 
young  fellows  like  you  treat  the  old  folks  now- 
a-days  ?  Go  home,  the  Nation  does  not  need 
you  yet;  go  home  with  your  father  who  does 
need  you  now.  Later,  when  there  is  a  little 
more  hair  on  your  chin,  you  shall  enlist  with 
us  for  good  and  all."  So  saying  he  turned  on 


i32  ®b*  Hebs  of  Itye  fttiM. 


his  heel  without  giving  me  a  chance  to  say  a 
word.  My  father  bowed  deeply  to  his  disap- 
pearing back,  and  in  another  moment  big 
Surto  was  dragging  me  brutally  out  of  the 
crowd  —  going  at  such  a  pace  that  my  father 
could  hardly  keep  up  with  us. 

I  felt  that  I  was  lost.  Vauclair,  who  knew 
all  my  story,  could  have  saved  me;  but  Vau- 
clair had  returned  to  the  house  to  prepare  for 
our  march  to  Paris,  and  was  beyond  all  call. 
If  only  I  had  had  my  gun  or  my  sword!  But 
both  were  stacked  up  with  the  arms  of  the 
Battalion  against  the  ramparts.  Alone,  un- 
armed, my  heart  failed  me  under  Surto's  claws; 
and  I  let  myself  be  dragged  on,  more  dead  than 
alive,  while  I  looked  around  vainly  for  Vau- 
clair's  red  plume.  Soon  we  were  far  away 
from  the  scene  of  the  festival.  We  pushed 
through  the  quarters  of  the  Anti-Patriots  and 
reached  the  Rue  de  la  Violette,  on  which 
was  the  palace  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis  d'Am- 
brun.  The  carriage  was  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  court-yard  ;  where  the  servants,  instead 
of  unloading  the  baggage,  were  piling  things 
into  it  under  the  orders  of  Monsieur  Robert  and 
Mademoiselle  Adeline.  When  Monsieur  Rob- 
ert saw  me  brought  in,  dragged  along  like 
some  wild  beast,  he  sneered  and  said:  "  Now 


133 


we've  got  the  little  villain  !  Zou  —  down  with 
him  into  the  vault  and  let  him  stay  there!  " 

My  father  stepped  forward  and  as  usual 
fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  that  monster's 
hand. 

When  Mademoiselle  Adeline  heard  what 
her  brother  said  she  clasped  her  hands  and 
turned  her  head  aside  so  as  not  to  see  me;  and 
I  understood  that  though  she  was  sorry  for  me 
she  did  not  dare  to  speak. 

The  end  of  all  now  seemed  very  near  to  me. 
We  came  into  the  hall,  in  the  middle  of  which 
was  an  open  trap-door  showing  a  dark  stair- 
case leading  to  the  cellar;  and  as  Surto  dragged 
me  down  those  stairs  I  heard  Monsieur  Robert 
saying  to  my  father:  "Well,  you've  seen  your 
good-for-nothing  scamp  of  a  son.  You  thought 
he  was  with  Monsieur  le  Chanoine  Jusserand, 
to  whom  Monsieur.  le  Cure  had  sent  him  with 
a  letter  of  recommendation  ;  but  the  scorpion 
preferred  living  with  murderers.  You  saw 
him  dressed  up  in  his  robber's  clothes!  " 

Down  at  the  end  of  the  cellar  was  the 
vault.  Surto  drew  the  bolts,  opened  the  door, 
and  pitched  me  into  the  dark  hole  —  saying  as 
he  did  so:  "  Starf  in  there!  When  you  get 
hungry,  eat  one  hand  —  and  keep  the  other  for 
breakfast  next  day!" 


134  ®l)e  Hebe  of  ttye  HUM. 

Although  I  felt  that  I  was  lost,  I  tried  to 
plead  with  him;  but  the  beast,  twirling  me 
around  as  if  to  get  a  chance  to  kick  the  bones 
out  of  me,  said  stuttering  with  anger:  "You 
little  tamn  rascal !  I  know  vat  a  snake's  tongue 
you  haf !  You  haf  see  too  much !  Suppose 
you  toldt  vat  you  see  in  the  hospital,  or  vat 
you  see  unter  that  pig  oak !  You  understand!, 
hey  ?  Veil,  down  there  you  haf  to  keep  your 
tongue  insidt  your  teeth!  " 

As  I  went  pitching  into  the  darkness  he 
slammed  fast  the  door  of  the  vault,  and  I  heard 
him  shoot  the  bolt  outside.  Then  1  heard  him 
go  up  stairs,  and  I  heard  the  trap-door  fall  with 
a  bang  like  a  cannon  shot.  I  was  left  alone  in 
the  blackness,  the  silence  and  the  chill  of  death. 

There  was  no  one  to  rescue  me.  My  own 
father  had  betrayed  and  sold  me,  had  consented 
to  my  death.  No,  that  was  impossible.  He 
could  not  in  the  least  have  understood  the  harm 
that  he  was  doing  me.  He,  poor  unfortunate 
wretch,  with  his  face  all  scarred  with  the  marks 
of  the  Count's  whip,  still  knelt  and  kissed  the 
Count's  hand.  Oh,  to  think  of  those  scars, 
and  not  to  be  able  to  avenge  them !  Then  I 
thought  and  thought  over  what  Surto  had  said 
about  what  I  had  seen  under  the  big  oak  at  La 
Garde.  But  what  had  I  ever  seen  under  that 


135 


oak  that  should  make  him  want  to  shut  me  up 
there  so  as  to  keep  my  tongue  behind  my 
teeth  ?  Suddenly,  in  a  flash,  it  all  came  back 
to  me  and  I  understood. 

One  day,  long,  long  before,  I  had  climbed 
to  the  top  of  that  oak  to  get  at  a  bird's  nest 
with  some  beautiful  nestlings;  and  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  putting  the  little  birds  into  my 
cap  when  down  under  the  tree  1  heard  voices. 
Spreading  myself  flat  along  the  branch  and 
looking  down,  I  saw  big  Surto  with  Madame 
la  Marquise.  They  were  holding  each  other's 
hands  and  talking  most  earnestly.  As  they 
separated,  one  to  go  one  way  and  one  the 
other,  I  heard  Surto  say:  "No  fear,  we'll  get 
rid  of  thy  little  Marquis!  I  swear  I'll  shoot 
him  the  first  day  when  we  are  hunting  together 
that  1  get  the  chance;"  and  the  Marquise  an- 
swered: "Act  quickly,  and  when  the  chance 
comes  shoot  true!  "  These  words  fairly  made 
my  flesh  creep.  I  flattened  myself  still  closer 
against  my  branch  and  waited  until  they  both, 
as  I  thought,  were  out  of  the  way  before  I  came 
down.  Unluckily  I  didn't  wait  long  enough. 
Surto,  though  a  good  way  off,  still  was  in  sight  ; 
and  what  was  more  he  happened  to  look  back 
in  the  instant  that  I  was  sliding  down  the  trunk 
to  the  ground.  I  ran  like  a  rabbit  into  the 


136  ®l]e  Uebs  of  tfye  Xllibi. 

thick  wood,  and  I  thought  at  the  time  that  he 
did  not  know  who  it  was;  but  I  was  mistaken 
— and  I  suppose  that  from  that  moment  he  was 
bent  upon  my  death.  And  so  I  fairly  had  played 
into  his  hands,  by  giving  him  a  good  open  ex- 
cuse for  killing  me,  when  I  threw  the  rock  on 
Monsieur  Robert's  toes. 

I  was  in  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  and 
recollections  when  I  heard  rats  running  over 
broken  bottles  piled  up  in  one  corner  of  the 
vault.  Broken  glass!  Oh,  what  good  luck! 
At  least  I  would  not  have  to  die  of  hunger — I 
could  cut  open  my  four  veins.  I  groped  my 
way  toward  the  corner,  and  at  each  step  a 
spider's  web  brushed  across  my  face;  they 
were  so  thick  that  the  spiders  must  have  been 
left  alone  there  to  spin  them  for  years  and  for 
years.  I  reached  the  broken  bottles,  and  was 
feeling  around  among  them  for  a  sharp  pointed 
bit  that  would  do  the  work  well  when  1  heard 
a  sound  as  if  the  trap  was  being  raised.  I  held 
my  breath;  and  then  I  clearly  heard  footsteps 
outside  the  door  of  the  vault.  It  doesn't  seem 
reasonable,  but  I  who  at  that  very  moment 
was  trying  to  find  something  to  kill  myself 
with,  began  to  tremble  so  that  my  teeth  chat- 
tered; for  I  was  sure  it  was  Surto  coming  back 
to  knock  me  on  the  head.  I  didn't  mind  dying 


137 


so  much  ;  but  I  did  mind  dying  by  that  mon- 
ster's hands  —  and  above  all  without  struggling; 
without  making  him  pay  for  my  death.  I 
picked  up  the  first  bottle-shard  that  my  hand 
found,  and  with  set  teeth  faced  the  door;  ready 
to  spring  on  the  wretch  and  bury  my  teeth  in 
his  neck  and  the  bit  of  glass  in  his  side.  And 
then  the  bolt  squeaked  and  the  door  opened 
wide. 

Oh  how  dazzled  I  was! 

With  a  little  lamp  in  her  hand,  a  blue  hood 
on  her  head,  I  saw  gentle  Adeline  whose  first 
words  were  :  '  '  Hush,  Pascalet  !  where  are  you  ? 
I  have  come  to  save  you." 

"You,  Adeline!  Oh  have  mercy  on  me. 
Don't  give  me  up  to  your  game-keeper.  He 
will  kill  me!  "  —  and  I  fell  at  her  feet. 

"Never,  my  good  little  Pascalet.  It  is  just 
the  contrary  —  I  have  come  to  save  you  from  that 
wicked  man.  Follow  me  and  do  not  speak. 
I  will  get  you  away  out  of  this  house  —  and 
may  God  keep  you  from  ever  falling  again  into 
big  Surto's  claws.  He  is  now  in  the  garden, 
digging  your  grave  ;  for  he  has  sworn  that  be- 
fore day  dawns  he'll  break  your  neck  and  bury 
you.  Come!" 

I  followed  her  quickly  up  the  stairway,  into 
the  hall,  and  then  out  by  a  door  —  so  heavy  that 


138  ®l)c  Eefcs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

we  both  together  had  to  pull  to  open  it — into 
the  chicken-yard.  Once  there,  Adeline  said 
to  me:  "  Get  over  that  wall  and  you  are  in  the 
street."  Mademoiselle  Adeline  actually  tried 
to  drag  out  for  me  the  chicken-house  ladder. 
Her  utmost  efforts  could  not  stir  it  from  its 
place — and  while  she  was  tugging  away  at  it 
with  her  delicate  little  hands  I,  active  as  a 
marten,  was  on  top  of  the  wall.  And  then — I 
am  ashamed  to  tell  it — 1,  rough  and  coarse  as 
barley-bread,  had  never  a  word  of  thanks  for 
her,  but  just  dropped  down  into  the  street  and 
tore  off  as  fast  as  I  could  toward  the  Place  du 
Grand  Paradis. 

At  that  time  of  night  Avignon  was  as  silent 
and  as  lonely  as  a  graveyard.  The  full  moon 
was  pouring  bucketsful  of  light  on  one  side  of 
the  narrow  street,  and  casting  on  the  other  side 
a  black  shadow  so  thick  that  hidden  in  it  you 
couldn't  tell  a  horse  from  a  man.  Buried  in 
the  shadow,  I  ran  onward — taking  care  to  keep 
clear  of  the  Papalist  quarter — and  not  until  I 
came  near  the  end  of  the  Rue  des  Encans  did 
I  hear  a  sound.  Then,  as  I  turned  the  corner 
into  the  Rue  Sainte  Catherine,  I  heard  coming 
toward  me  the  trampling  of  feet. 

"Heavens!"  I  thought,  "maybe  it's  the 
Papalist  patrol!" — and  1  hid  myself  in  a  deep 


139 


doorway  where  the  shadow  was  as  thick  as 
a  fog. 

The  sounds  came  nearer  and  nearer,  while 
I  stood  there  trembling;  and  at  last  —  it  seemed 
to  me  a  long  while  —  the  group  came  abreast 
of  me  and  then  safely  passed  me  by.  But 
though  they  did  not  see  me  in  the  shadow,  I 
saw  them  clearly  in  the  bright  moonlight.  At 
the  head  walked  a  big  thick  woman,  striding 
along  like  a  man  and  carrying  in  one  hand  a 
long  knife  and  in  the  other  a  bag.  Behind  her 
came  three  masked  men,  carrying  between 
them  another  man  bound  and  gagged  —  a  poor 
wretch  who  from  time  to  time  kicked  and 
struggled  and  tried  vainly  to  get  free;  and  each 
time  that  he  fell  to  wriggling  and  plunging, 
and  the  little  procession  halted  until  his  bearers 
could  hold  him  fast  again,  the  woman  turned 
around  and  cried  in  a  harsh  voice:  "That's 
right,  kick  away  !  Kick  as  much  as  you  please  ! 
You  can't  get  loose  —  and  I'm  going  to  rip 
your  bowels  out  before  we  throw  you  into  the 
Rhone!" 

It  was  La  Jacarasse,  the  tripe-  woman,  who 
was  taunting  the  helpless  man  with  these 
blood-curdling  words;  and  I  could  hear  her 
keeping  on  in  the  same  fashion  until  she  and 
the  masks  and  their  prisoner  disappeared 


ftebs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


around  the  next  turn.  They  went  on  into  the 
Rue  de  la  Banasterie,  toward  the  Porte  de  la 
Ligne  —  and  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight 
I  took  to  my  heels  again  and  in  another  minute 
I  was  at  our  own  door.  Jacquemart  was 
pounding  midnight  on  his  bell,  and  yet  there 
still  was  a  light  in  the  window  of  our  room.  I 
knocked  and  called  as  loudly  as  I  dared:  "  La- 
zuli! Lazuli!  It  is  I!  " 

"Can  it  be  Pascalet  ?  Yes,  it  is  his  voice!  " 
I  heard  Lazuli  cry,  and  then  I  heard  her  hurry- 
ing down  the  stairs  as  if  on  wings. 

The  key  turned  and  the  door  flew  open. 
As  soon  as  Lazuli  saw  me  she  caught  me  close 
in  her  arms  and  kissed  me  a  dozen  times. 
"  Where  have  you  been  ?  What  has  happened 
to  you  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  know  how 
many  patrols  I've  sent  hunting  for  you  all 
through  Avignon."  And  as  we  went  up  the 
stairs  together  to  our  room  she  continued: 
"  Vauclair  left  with  the  Battalion.  He  told  me 
that  as  soon  as  you  got  back  I  was  to  send  you 
after  him  on  the  road  to  Paris.  Oh  Pascalet, 
my  pretty  boy,  I  began  to  fear  you  were  lost!  " 
—  and  then  she  threw  her  arms  around  me  and 
kissed  me  again  and  again. 

I  was  greatly  surprised  arid  confused  and 
delighted.  I  hardly  could  tell  whether  I  was 


141 


asleep  or  awake.  I  knew  nothing  of  caresses; 
and  these,  the  first  I  ever  had  felt,  seemed 
strangely  sweet  to  me.  Lazuli's  hearty  kisses 
as  she  pressed  my  face  against  her  warm  bosom 
moved  me  curiously.  Not  to  be  rude,  as  I  had 
been  to  Mademoiselle  Adeline,  I  gave  back  kiss 
for  kiss  and  hug  for  hug  and  felt  I  never  could 
weary  of  so  giving  and  taking.  Often  had 
I  spent  hours  gazing  at  her,  thinking  how 
pretty  she  was  and  how  everything  she  did 
was  well  done.  Sometimes  as  she  passed  near 
me  I  had  ventured  to  touch  her  skirt  ;  and  the 
touch  had  sent  a  thrill  through  all  my  veins. 
Lazuli's  voice  was  honey-sweet,  and  when  she 
looked  on  me  with  her  lovely  kind  eyes  her 
glance  seemed  a  caress  in  itself.  Innocent  as 
a  new-born  babe  in  all  such  love  matters,  I 
didn't  understand  what  I  felt.  Probably  La- 
zuli had  some  notion  of  it.  At  any  rate,  she 
soon  stopped  petting  me,  pushed  me  away, 
and  returned  to  her  usual  cheerful  well-bal- 
anced self  as  she  said:  "  You  must  be  hungry, 
Pascalet.  Take  some  bread  and  wine  and  tell 
me  all  that  has  happened  to  you,"  She  poured 
me  a  glass  of  cordial  and  continued:  "You 
must  be  off  in  a  hurry  so  as  to  catch  up  with 
the  Battalion  at  La  Verdette,  where  they  camp 
for  the  night.  You  know  where  that  is,  about 


142  ®l)e  Hebs  of  tlje  ittiM. 

half  a  league  from  Avignon  ?  The  Battalion 
starts  from  there  at  daylight  for  Paris." 

While  I  sopped  my  bread  in  my  wine  I 
told  her  step  by  step  all  my  misfortunes,  and 
also  how  I  had  met  La  Jacarasse  and  the  three 
men  carrying  another  man  to  the  Rhone. 
When  Lazuli  heard  this  she  threw  her  arms  up 
over  her  head,  and  exclaimed:  "  It  isn't  possi- 
ble! Where  are  we?  Is  everybody  a  mur- 
derer ?  I  am  not  going  to  stay  here  alone  with 
my  baby.  I  am  afraid  of  your  Surto.  I  am 
afraid  of  La  Jacarasse.  Start  now.  Leave  here 
at  once.  Take  your  gun  and  your  sword  and 
join  the  Battalion.  Tell  Vauclair  I  can  not  stay 
here  alone.  Tell  him  I  shall  start  for  Paris 
next  week  by  the  coach.  I  shall  pass  you  on 
the  road  and  will  wait  for  you  in  Paris.  I  will 
get  ready  there  a  little  home  for  you  both ;  and 
I  will  be  there  with  you  should  anything  go 
wrong.  I  too  am  a  Patriot.  I  want  my  share 
of  all  your  troubles. 

"  Here  is  your  bundle.  See,  Pascalet,  what 
I  have  put  in  it  for  you.  Here  is  a  nice  un- 
bleached linen  shirt;  here  is  your  gourd,  full  of 
good  brandy;  here  is  a  handsome  red  taiolo  to 
fasten  round  your  waist;  here  are  two  pistols, 
with  powder  and  ball  and  fresh  flints;  and  here 
is  your  tricolour  cockade.  Here  too,  don't  for- 


ittamillcrise."  143 


get,  are  the  three  crowns  given  you  by  Mon- 
sieur Randoulet.  You  may  need  them.  It  is 
a  long  road  to  Paris,  and  the  times  are  bad. 
They  say  all  the  people  up  there  are  Aristocrats 
—perhaps  you  will  not  get  even  drinking- 
water  for  nothing!  Well,  it  is  time  to  start. 
Come  and  kiss  little  Clairet  —  but  come  quietly, 
for  he  is  fast  asleep.  And  then  be  off  as 
quickly  as  you  can,  and  tell  all  I  have  said  to 
Vauclair." 

Lazuli  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  in 
softly  to  kiss  little  Clairet.  Then  she  put  my 
bundle  on  my  back,  fastening  it  on  firmly  with 
two  bands  which  crossed  over  my  chest,  and 
we  went  down  stairs.  I  went  first,  and  what 
with  sword  and  gun  and  bundle  I  was  laden 
like  a  bee.  Lazuli  came  behind,  lamp  in  hand, 
saying  over  and  over:  "Yes,  1  start  next  week 
—  we  will  all  meet  very  soon.  Say  so  to  Vau- 
clair." 

My  heart  got  up  into  my  mouth  and  choked 
me  so  that  I  couldn't  answer  her  a  word.  I 
stopped  on  the  threshold  —  and  before  I  could 
turn  around  the  door  was  shut  behind  me  and 
bolted  fast.  And  there  I  was,  all  alone  at  night 
on  the  Place  du  Grand  Paradis,  my  sword  by 
my  side,  my  gun  on  my  shoulder  —  starting  on 
foot  for  Paris,  the  Capital  of  France  ! 
ii 


144  ®lK  fie&s  of  tlje  ittiM. 

"And  now,"  said  Pascal,  interrupting  him- 
self, "I  think  it  is  about  time  that  the  little 
man  there  and  the  rest  of  us  should  go  and  see 
the  blind  procession  go  by.  Good-night." 

As  we  went  out  Lou  Materoun  said:  "  But 
to-morrow  you'll  tell  us  what  happened  up 
there  in  Paris,  won't  you,  Pascal  ?  You're  not 
going  to  leave  us  this  way,  all  high  and  dry  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  to-mor- 
row," answered  Pascal — already  a  good  way 
off.  Lou  Materoun  went  toward  the  upper 
part  of  the  village  while  we  went  toward  the 
lower,  each  one  taking  the  road  to  his  home. 
Sheltered  under  my  grandfather's  cloak,  my  eyes 
shut  up  with  sleepiness,  I  clutched  his  breeches 
and  so  let  him  lead  me  to  the  door  of  our 
house.  And  while  he  held  up  his  lantern  and 
fumbled  with  the  key  I  still  heard,  there  under 
the  cloak,  the  steady  beat  of  Lou  Materoun's 
hob-nailed  shoes  as  he  went  upward  through 
the  darkness  to  the  high  end  of  the  village 
street. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   MARCH   OF  THE  MARSEILLES   BATTALION. 

WHILE  we  were  at  supper  the  next  even- 
ing my  father  said:  "My  olives  are  to  be 
ground  to-night  and  I  must  go  to  the  oil-mill 
to  see  after  them.  The  first  pressing  will  be 
sent  home  about  ten  o'clock,  and  as  I  can't  be 
in  two  places  at  once  somebody  must  be  here 
to  put  it  in  the  jars." 

"Very  well,"  said  my  grandfather,  "I  will 
stay  at  home  and  attend  to  it." 

"  Won't  we  go  to  the  shoemaker's  then  ?  " 
I  cried  all  of  a  tremble.  "Why,  it's  to-night 
that  Pascal  tells  of  the  march  to  Paris! " 

My  father  frowned  as  he  said:  "  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  be  kept  from  looking  after  my 
olives  by  a  blind  grandmother's  story  like  this 
stuff  of  old  Pascal's." 

But  my  mother  understood  perfectly  how  I 
felt — how  cruelly  disappointed  I  was.  I  do  be- 
lieve that  she  used  to  feel  in  her  own  body  all  that 
I  felt  in  mine.  Never  had  a  boy  so  good  and 

145 


146  ®l)e  ftefcs  of  ll)e 


kind  a  mother.  "  There  now,"  said  she.  "Go 
to  your  story-telling.  I  will  stay  up  and  at- 
tend to  the  oil." 

A  minute  later  my  grandfather  had  lighted 
his  lantern  and  we  were  off  together;  and  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  go  from  the  sink  to 
the  wood-pile  we  found  ourselves  at  the  shoe- 
maker's. As  it  turned  out  it  was  well  that  we 
had  hurried.  The  meeting  already  was  in  full 
session,  and  the  neighbours  had  no  more  than 
made  room  on  the  bench  for  my  grandfather 
when  old  Pascal  opened  his  mouth  and  began. 

I  did  not  loiter  on  the  road.  I  followed  the 
tow-path  along  the  Rhone,  taking  a  short  cut 
whenever  1  could  find  one.  The  stars  were 
shining.  The  red  moon,  looking  as  big  as  the 
setting  sun,  just  touched  the  Rock  of  Justice. 
The  Rhone  went  rippling  along  with  a  little 
noise  like  that  of  the  sun-wind  in  the  white 
poplars.  The  nightingales  were  trilling  to  each 
other  across  the  river.  On  the  meadows  were 
tiny  points  of  light  where  the  glow-worms 
were  lying  in  the  grass.  Suddenly  the  sound 
of  girls'  voices  and  of  young  mens'  laughter 
startled  me;  and  I  knew  that  hidden  by  the 
bushes  close  by  was  a  threshing-floor,  and 
that  the  young  people  of  the  farmhouse  to 


0f  ttye  ittor0eilles  Battalion.  147 


which  it  belonged  were  seated  on  the  straw- 
heaps  and  were  merry-making  out  of  doors  in 
the  sweet  freshness  of  the  night. 

But  nothing  could  stay  me.  On  I  ran,  keep- 
ing my  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  evergreen- 
oaks  of  La  Verdette  which  I  could  make  out 
faintly  in  the  distance.  And  as  I  ran  I  kept 
saying  to  myself  :  "Hurry!  Hurry!  The  Bat- 
talion may  start  without  you!  "  I  felt  that  no 
joy  could  be  so  sweet  as  that  of  being  once 
more  with  the  men  of  Marseilles,  of  seeing 
again  Vauclair,  of  feeling  myself  again  one  of 
the  patriot  Reds  of  the  Midi  on  the  march  to 
Paris  to  drive  out  our  traitor  King. 

At  last  I  came  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and 
as  I  was  looking  for  a  place  to  jump  the  ditch 
that  ran  beside  the  road  a  voice  cried  sharply 
out  of  the  darkness:  "Halt!  Who  goes 
there  ?  " 

"Friend  of  Liberty,"  I  answered,  giving 
the  countersign. 

"  But  who  are  you  ?" 

"lam  Pascalet.  A  volunteer  from  Avi- 
gnon." 

"  Why,  it's  our  kid!  Vive  la  Nation!  Tip 
us  your  five  sardines,  Pascalet.  We  thought 
you  were  done  for."  And  the  sentry  shook 
hands  so  hard  that  I  thought  my  five  sar- 


148  (Elje  ftebs  of 


dines,  as  he  called  them,  were  done  for  any 
way. 

The  sentry's  challenge,  and  his  shout  of  joy 
when  he  found  that  I  had  got  back  safe  again, 
started  the  rest  of  the  men  from  their  resting 
places  beneath  the  trees.  The  Commandant 
Moisson,  Captain  Gamier,  my  good  Vauclair  — 
half  the  command  came  crowding  around  me. 
As  for  Vauclair,  he  was  so  delighted  that  he 
picked  me  right  off  my  feet  and  hugged  me 
like  a  bear;  and  we  couldn't  speak,  either  of 
us  —  we  were  fairly  crying  ! 

"If  you  hadn't  turned  up,  Pascalet,"  said 
the  Commandant,  "I  believe  I  would  have 
marched  the  Battalion  back  to  look  for  you.  I 
felt  something  here  in  my  heart  that  told  me  it 
was  all  wrong  to  let  that  dirty  German  carry 
you  off." 

"Well,  it's  all  right  now,"  said  Vauclair  as 
he  loosened  his  bear-hug  and  set  me  on  my 
feet  again.  "We  won't  talk  about  it.  Tell 
me,  how  did  you  find  your  way  here  ?  Did 
you  see  Lazuli  ?" 

"Did  I  see  her?  I  should  say  I  did!  It 
was  she  who  gave  me  my  things  and  started 
me  after  you.  I  told  her  everything  that  had 
happened,  and  she  was  all  worked  up  about 
it." 


Ittard)  of  tl)c  Marseilles  Battalion.   149 

Here  the  Commandant  ordered  the  drums 
to  beat  the  assembly.  "Hurry,  lads,"  he 
called.  "We  must  be  off.  It  will  be  day- 
break soon." 

Vauclair  kept  muttering:  "  I  don't  wonder 
she  was  worked  up.  It  doesn't  seem  possible 
such  things  could  be!  It  doesn't  seem  pos- 
sible!" And  as  we  fell  in  he  asked:  "And 
what  did  she  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  wouldn't  stay  where  there 
were  such  goings  on.  That  she  and  little 
Clairet  would  take  the  Paris  coach  next  week 
and  pass  us  on  the  road.  She  says  she  wants 
to  have  a  hand  in  the  row  up  there  herself." 

"I'm  glad  she's  coming,"  Vauclair  an- 
swered. "  What  you  tell  me  takes  a  load  off 
my  mind.  I  should  have  wearied  for  her  up 
there  alone.  But  aren't  you  tired,  Pascalet  ? 
You  haven't  had  a  wink  of  sleep — and  you 
know  we  are  to  make  one  stretch  of  it  from 
here  to  Orange,  at  least  six  leagues." 

"Sleepy?  Tired?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  And 
what  do  we  want  to  stop  in  Orange  for  ?  " 
Booby  that  I  was,  I  thought  that  Paris  was  just 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  and  that  we 
could  get  there  in  a  single  march ! 

While  we  talked,  the  Battalion  was  form- 
ing in  line  on  the  road.  ' '  Forward,  march ! " 


tlje  XttiM. 


cried  the  Commandant.  The  drums  beat  the 
quick-step  ;  all  the  men  together  burst  out  with 
"Allons  enfants  de  la  Patrie!"  —  and  we  were 
off.  I  stepped  out  with  my  longest  stride  — 
trying  to  walk  with  the  step  of  a  big  man  — 
and  1  sung  away  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  borne  away  on  wings.  My 
voice  rang  out  so  loud  that  I  heard  nothing 
else.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  singing  could 
be  heard  in  Avignon,  in  Marseilles,  away  even 
in  my  own  home  among  the  mountains  at 
Malemort;  and  as  if  the  whole  round  earth 
must  hear  the  rattle  of  our  drums,  the  thunder- 
like  rumbling  of  our  cannon,  and  our  tre- 
mendous cry:  "Aux  armes,  citoyens!  Aux 
armes!  " 

I  had  taken  my  place  at  the  head  of  the 
Battalion,  close  behind  the  drums,  alongside  of 
the  tall  Federal  who  had  carried  the  banner  of 
The  Rights  of  Man  through  the  streets  of  Avi- 
gnon. He  was  a  good-natured,  jolly  fellow; 
a  Marseillais  named  Samat.  Every  now  and 
then  he  would  turn  to  me  and  say:  "Good 
for  you,  kid!  Good  for  you!"  To  which  I 
would  answer  —  wanting  to  please  him  by 
speaking  with  the  Marseilles  accent:  "  Vivo  la 
Nacien!"  and  then  I  w'ould  go  on  roaring 
"  Aliens  enfants  de  la  Patrie!  " 


JlTarcl)  of  tlje  Marseilles  Battalion.  151 

Day  was  just  dawning  as  we  marched 
through  the  village  of  Sorgues.  The  men  in 
their  shirts,  the  women  in  their  shifts  with  hair 
loose  over  their  shoulders,  crowded  to  the  win- 
dows to  see  us  pass.  The  young  men  and  the 
girls  applauded  us;  the  girls  even  blowing 
kisses  to  us,  while  the  men  shouted:  "Death 
to  the  tyrant!  Vive  les  Marseillais !  "  But  the 
stiff-necked  ones,  the  old  women,  the  people 
behind  the  age,  crossed  themselves,  spit  at  us, 
and  banged-to  their  shutters.  The  village  was 
so  small  that  we  were  soon  through  it  and  out 
in  the  open  country  again. 

The  sun  was  rising  behind  Mont  Ventour, 
and  the  birds  were  flying  out  from  the  trees 
and  bushes.  Already  men  were  at  work  at 
the  threshing-floors  unbinding  the  sheaves  and 
spreading  them  out  and  hammering  them  with 
the  hard-hitting  flails.  Close  beside  the  thresh- 
ers the  great  winnowing-sieves,  hung  between 
their  three  poles,  swayed  backwards  and  for- 
wards winnowing  the  grain  from  the  chaff. 
The  yellow  grain  rained  straight  down,  form- 
ing even,  pointed  heaps;  while  the  floating 
chaff,  looking  like  gold-dust,  was  carried  away 
by  the  light  wind  and  sprinkled  in  little  gold 
dots  over  the  grass.  From  the  grain  that  leaped 
from  the  husks  with  each  flail-stroke,  and  from 


152  $l)e  ttcfcs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


the  beaten  straw,  there  blew  over  on  the  soft 
wind  clear  to  the  road  where  we  were  marching 
with  our  cannon  behind  us  a  delicious  smell 
that  fairly  made  our  mouths  water  —  it  was  so 
like  the  smell  of  good  golden-crusted  bread 
fresh  out  of  the  oven.  Farther  away,  off  in  the 
stubble-fields,  we  could  see  men  gathering  the 
heaps  of  sheaves  into  wagons  —  so  piled  up  that 
they  looked  like  little  thatched  houses.  Stick- 
ing out  beyond  the  shelvings  the  big  ends  of 
the  sheaves  almost  touched  the  ground;  and 
the  load,  held  fast  by  the  double  rope,  curved 
out  so  far  over  the  back  of  the  shaft-horse  that  he 
looked  like  ahorse  half  buried  in  a  stack  of  straw. 
As  the  sun  got  higher  and  the  day  got  hotter 
the  cigales  began  to  sing;  and  all  around  us 
new  ones  were  coming  out  of  the  ground  and 
getting  off  their  chrysalis  overcoats  and  then  — 
when  the  good  sun  had  given  them  fresh  life  — 
flying  off  with  their  harsh  buzzing  cry  into  the 
hot  air.  The  little  creatures  came  and  perched 
on  our  bayonets  and  gun-barrels;  and  as  we 
roared  out  the  "Marseillaise"  to  our  steady 
drum-rattle,  they  scraped  out  their  buzzing 
song.  So  to  buzz  of  cigale  and  buzz  of  drum 
we  marched  under  the  blazing  sun,  kicking  up 
the  dust  of  twenty  flocks  of  sheep  and  making 
our  throats  as  dry  as  lime-kilns. 


of  tfye  Marseille©  Battalion.  153 


In  spite  of  heat  and  dust,  in  spite  of  thirst 
and  weariness,  no  one  complained  as  we 
tramped  steadily  on  :  one  body  and  one  soul 
with  one  will  and  one  aim  —  and  that  to  make 
the  traitor  King,  and  those  Parisians  who  were 
traitors  with  him,  cry  mercy. 

At  midday  we  reached  Orange,  where  the 
whole  town  headed  by  the  Consul  came  to 
meet  us.  I  can  tell  you  I  was  a  proud  boy  as 
I  entered  that  town!%  From  my  shoes  to  my 
eyebrows  I  was  white  with  dust.  My  red  cap 
was  cocked  over  one  ear.  I  kept  my  eyes 
glaringly  wide  open,  so  as  to  Jook  fierce  and 
dangerous.  I  howled  the  "Marseillaise"  at 
the  top  of  my  voice  as  I  marched  in  the  van  of 
the  Battalion  —  and  I  was  sure  that  no  one  saw 
or  heard  anybody  but  me! 

Samat,  at  the  head  of  the  column,  flourished 
his  banner  of  The  Rights  of  Man  ;  and  when 
he  saw  any  one  who  looked  sulky,  or  who  did 
not  applaud,  that  unpatriotic  person  had  to 
kiss  The  Rights  of  Man  in  a  hurry  ! 

At  the  Hotel  de  Ville  the  Consul  welcomed 
us  formally  in  a  speech  in  French  which  we 
couldn't  make  anything  out  of.  He  talked  and 
he  talked  and  he  talked,  without  once  stop- 
ping. And  at  last  —  as  it  seemed  as  if  he  never 
would  finish  —  Margan,  a  long  thin  pockmarked 


i54  (EI)e  fte&s  of  tlje 


fellow,  called  out:  "Hold  up  there,  Monsieur 
le  Consul.  Hearing  your  gab  gives  me  the 
pip.  Vivo  la  Nacien  —  with  a  jug  of  wine!  " 

Every  one  laughed  and  applauded;  and  the 
Consul,  quite  understanding  the  matter,  ended 
his  speech  by  saying:  "Friends,  I  see  what 
you  need  is  to  be  well  filled  up.  You  are  to 
camp  on  the  Place  de  1'Arc  de  Triomphe;  and 
there  you'll  find  all  the  good  wine  and  good 
barley  bread  that  you  can  hold.  Vive  la  Na- 
tion !  " 

We  found  it  all  as  the  Consul  had  promised, 
and  after  we  had  gulped  our  claret  and 
munched  our  good  barley  bread  seasoned  with 
a  clove  of  garlic  rubbed  on  it,  we  went  to  take 
an  afternoon  nap  in  a  near-by  shady  field. 
Some  lay  down  on  their  sides,  some  on 
their  backs,  but  the  greatest  number  lay  face 
down  so  as  not  to  be  bothered  by  the  flies. 
Unbuttoning  my  coat  and  unlacing  my  shoes, 
I  lay  down  beside  Vauclair,  gun  in  hand  —  for 
I  had  sworn,  since  my  capture  of  the  day  be- 
fore, that  never  would  I  let  that  gun  go  again 
—  and  with  my  bundle  for  a  pillow  I  soon 
floated  off  in  dreams.  I  saw  myself  once  more 
at  the  Porte  de  la  Ligne  in  the  midst  of  the  fes- 
tivities, again  I  heard  the  jingle  of  bells  and 
the  cracking  of  a  whip,  again  I  felt  the  breath 


illlarcl)  of  the  iHarseiilco  JSaltalion.  155 

of  the  horses  on  my  neck.  And  then — oh  hor- 
ror!— again  a  hand  caught  my  shoulder  in  a 
grip  like  a  vice !  Frightened,  panting,  I  awoke 
screaming:  "Vauclair!  Help!  Help!"  And 
as  I  jumped  to  my  feet — this  is  the  wonderful 
part  of  it — I  really  saw  on  the  highway,  close 
by  me,  the  Marquis  of  Ambrun's  carriage  dash- 
ing along  at  full  gallop  with  its  three  horses  har- 
nessed en  arbalete — two  horses  abreast  and  the 
third  in  front — and  there  was  Surto  up  on  the 
box  outside. 

"What's  the  row?  What's  the  matter 
with  you  ?"  cried  Vauclair,  jumping  to  his  feet 
beside  me. 

"  Look!  Look!  "  I  cried.  "  It  is  the  Mar- 
quis d'Ambrun  and  Surto!  There,  up  the 
road,  in  that  carriage!  " 

"Oh,"  said  Vauclair,  regretfully,  "if  only 
we  had  seen  them  coming!  " 

My  scream  had  waked  up  most  of  the  men. 
The  Commandant  came  up,  and  Vauclair  told 
him  all  about  my  kidnapping  of  the  day  before 
and  pointed  out  to  him  the  little  black  speck 
far  up  the  road  wrapped  in  a  cloud  of  dust; 
and  then  added  that  in  that  carriage  were  the 
very  Aristos  who  had  tried  to  kill  me. 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  them  and  a  bad  thing 
for  us  that  we  didn't  see  them  sooner,"  said 


156  ®tje  ttefcs  of  tl)e  IttiM. 

the  Commandant.  "We'd  have  settled  the 
score  for  the  boy,  here — and  three  fine  horses 
are  just  what  we  need  to  drag  our  cannon  to 
Paris." 

But  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done 
about  it.  A  little  later  Captain  Gamier  ordered 
the  drums  to  beat  the  assembly,  and  we  all  fell 
in;  and  then — with  the  people  of  Orange 
crowding  around  us  cheering,  and  with  all  the 
Battalion  roaring  out  "Tremblez,  tyrans!  "  and 
the  rest  of  it — away  we  went  up  the  Paris 
road. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  the  white  pop- 
lars bordering  the  lagoons  of  the  Rhone  as  we 
passed  through  Mornas.  To  our  wonder  the 
town  was  dead  deserted.  The  rattle  of  our 
drums,  our  singing  of  the  "Marseillaise,"  the 
rumble  of  our  cannon,  shook  the  whole  town 
— but  the  doors  and  windows  staid  fast  barred 
and  the  only  living  things  we  saw  were  some 
fluttering  and  squawking  hens. 

"Here's  a  pretty  state  of  things!"  said 
Samat;  who  felt  quite  shame-faced  at  having 
unfurled  his  banner  of  The  Rights  of  Man  in  a 
place  where  there  was  no  one  who  could  be 
kicked  into  kissing  it  on  his  knees. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  all  thunders  is  every- 
body doing  in  this  town  of  nobody  ?"  shouted 


fttarcl)  of  itye  ittamilles  Battalion.  157 

Margan,  at  the  same  time  banging  with  his 
gunstock  against  windows  and  doors.  But 
his  banging  did  no  good.  We  went  clear 
through  the  village  without  seeing  the  face  of 
man. 

At  the  end  of  the  town  we  came  upon  more 
squawking  chickens;  and  Samat  said,  with 
a  good  deal  of  meaning  in  his  tone:  "  Well,  at 
any  rate  there  are  plenty  of  chickens  in  this 
country!"  He  left  the  ranks  and  went  back, 
and  so  did  twenty  or  thirty  more  of  our  men ; 
and  when  they  joined  us  again  every  one 
of  them  had  a  cock  or  a  pullet  spitted  on 
his  bayonet — where  they  kept  on  gurgling 
and  sighing  for  two  or  three  hours,  as  we 
went  marching  onward  through  the  black 
night. 

Oh  how  long  was  that  night  and  how 
weary  that  road !  The  darkness  grew  blacker 
and  blacker.  We  were  too  tired  to  talk.  Even 
Margan,  who  was  a  born  chatterbox,  held  his 
tongue.  The  only  sounds  we  heard  were  the 
rattling  of  the  forge-irons  and  the  rumbling  of 
the  cannon  on  the  road,  and  the  chirping  of 
crickets  and  croaking  of  frogs  off  in  the  dark- 
ness near  us  in  the  fields.  Drowsily  we 
plodded  on. 

Suddenly,  far  ahead  of  us  we  saw  a  light 


158  ®l)e  ftebs  of  llje  XttiM. 

that  seemed  to  be  in  the  road  and  that  tossed 
about  and  went  from  side  to  side. 

"What's  that?"  called  out  one  of  our 
drummers,  who  led  the  way.  No  one  could 
tell,  and  every  one  made  his  guess  as  to  what 
it  was.  One  thought  it  the  mail-coach,  an- 
other a  carriage,  another  a  Jack-o'-lantern. 
But  what  it  actually  turned  out  to  be  was  a 
man  with  a  lantern  running  toward  us,  with 
open  arms  as  if  he  would  bar  our  way,  while 
he  shouted:  "Mercy!  Mercy!  We  are  all 
.good  Patriots.  Have  pity  on  us.  Do  not  hurt 
us.  We  are  poor,  but  we  will  give  you  all 
we  have.  I  can  offer  no  more!  " 

"But,  my  good  man,  who  are  you;  and 
what  makes  you  think  we  want  to  hurt  you  ?  " 
asked  Samat,  sticking  the  man's  own  lantern 
under  his  nose  so  .as  to  see  what  he  looked 
like. 

"  I  am  the  Consul  of  Pierrelatte.  Don't 
hurt  me,  and  1  will  turn  over  everything  to 
you.  Before  they  ran  away  my  Pierrelatte 
people  said  to  me :  '  Let  them  eat  and  drink  all 
there  is  to  eat  and  drink.  Let  them  eat  and 
drink  it  all!'  Now  what  more  would  you 
have  ?  I  implore  you  not  to  burn  or  pull  down 
or  ruin  the  property  of  these  my  poor  peo- 
ple!" 


of  ll)c  ittarseilUs  Battalion.   159 


"You  great  old  owl,  you!"  cried  Margan, 
bursting  into  a  laugh  at  seeing  the  Consul 
trembling  on  his  little  cock's  legs  that  shook 
like  castanets.  "What  do  you  take  us  for  — 
for  murderers,  for  highway  robbers  ?  Come, 
come,  you  must  tell  your  Pierrelatte  people 
that  we  are  good  Patriots,  and  that  all  we  want 
is  enough  wine  to  keep  us  going  from  here  to 
Montelimar." 

"Well,  that  don't  seem  much  to  ask,"  said 
the  Consul.  And  then  he  went  on:  "Ah,  my 
dear  sir,  no  sooner  had  the  carriage  driven 
away  than  all  my  Pierrelatte  people  fled  into 
the  islands  of  the  Rhone  —  leaving  me,  their 
Consul,  all  alone  to  try  to  make  you  hear 
reason." 

"  What  carriage?"  asked  Vauclair. 

"A  carriage  that  passed  here  at  nightfall. 
It  stopped  but  a  moment  in  the  Place  de  la 
Commune,  and  the  coachman  without  getting 
down  from  his  seat  called  out:'  'Good  people, 
hide  yourselves!  The  Marseilles  robbers  are 
coming!  To-morrow  you  all  will  be  dead  and 
your  houses  all  pillaged  and  burned!'  And 
then  he  whipped  up  his  horses  and  galloped 
off  as  if  he  had  the  devil  at  his  heels." 

"  We  know  who  that  man  was!  Eh,  Com- 
mandant?" said  Vauclair  turning  to  Com- 


160  ®|)c  ftebs  of  tl)e  HUM. 


mandant  Moisson.  "  We'll  catch  up  with  him 
at  Paris  —  with  him  and  his  Marquis  too!  " 

Margan,  who  was  getting  impatient,  broke 
in  with:  "All  right,  all  right,  citizen  Consul. 
As  you  have  a  lantern,  go  ahead  and  show  us 
the  door  of  the  best  cellar  in  the  village.  That 
is  all  we  ask." 

"Come  along,  you  good  people,"  said  the 
old  Consul,  now  quite  easy  about  us.  "Fol- 
low me."  And  away  he  went,  stumping 
along  in  front  of  the  Battalion  while  he  rambled 
on  to  us:  "Oh,  if  only  they  had  known  this, 
my  people  would  not  have  hidden  themselves, 
every  one  of  them,  in  the  Rhone  islands. 
They  took  their  goats,  their  mules,  their  asses; 
they  even  carried  their  rabbits  with  them. 
They  took  away  everything  they  possibly 
could  take.  If  you  could  have  seen  them  run- 
ning away  —  the  women  shrieking  and  scream- 
ing, the  children  crying,  the  men  swearing! 
And  so  away  they  all  went  to  the  islands. 

"Had  they  known  that  a  couple  of  barrels 
of  wine  was  all  you  wanted!  Well,  well, 
well  —  all  gone  except  me,  the  Consul.  I  said 
to  myself:  '  Either  you  are  the  Consul  or  you 
are  not.  If  your  head  is  cut  off,  it  will  be  cut 
off  —  but  you  will  not  do  your  duty  as  a  Consul 
unless  you  stay  !  '  ' 


of  tl)e  Jflarsdlks  Battalion.  161 


"What  are  you  chattering  about,  old  fel- 
low ?  "  said  Margan.  "Are  we  near  that  cellar- 
door  yet  ?  " 

"Not  two  steps  farther,"  said  the  Consul. 
"Here  we  are,"  and,  so  saying,  he  stopped  in 
the  main  street  of  the  village  before  a  locked 
and  barred  door.  "Here  is  the  best  stocked 
cellar  in  Pierrelatte,  "  he  went  on,  holding  up 
his  lantern  so  as  to  see  the  lock.  "But  they 
certainly  have  carried  off  the  key." 

"All  right,  all  right,"  said  Margan,  stepping 
forward.  "Don't  work  up  your  bile,  citizen 
Consul,  we  have  keys  here  to  open  all  locks," 
and  he  called:  "Hallo,  there,  oh  Peloux! 
Bring  up  the  forge-truck  and  show  what  good 
locksmiths  we  are.  Show  how  long  it  will 
take  us  to  open  the  doors  of  the  King's  Castle 
up  there  in  Paris!  " 

Peloux,  who  was  the  armorer  of  the  Bat- 
talion, came  forward  with  his  men,  dragging 
the  forge-truck.  In  the  glint  of  an  eye  they 
turned  the  tail  of  the  truck  toward  the  big 
door;  six  men  took  hold  and  drew  it  to  the 
other  side  of  the  street  so  as  to  have  a  good 
start:  "Oh,  isso!  Now  then,  all  together!" 
they  cried  —  and  the  ready-made  battering  ram 
whacked  against  the  door,  and  burst  it  open 
with  a  bang!  Like  a  swarm  of  eager  wine- 


162  ®l)e  ftcba  of  the  ittibi. 

flies  we  rushed  through  the  opening,  and  in  no 
time  had  the  bung  out  of  the  biggest  barrel 
and  its  vent  started.  Out  spouted  the  wine  in  a 
red  curve,  glinting  in  the  light  of  the  lantern 
like  a  rainbow  of  rubies  and  filling  the  whole 
place  with  its  rich  smell.  As  the  big  jugs  were 
filled  each  man  clutched  one,  and  either  glued 
his  lips  to  it  and  sucked  away  or  held  it  high 
up  and  let  the  wine  pour  directly  down  into 
his  thirsty  throat.  Some  even  stooped  and 
drank  directly  from  the  barrel.  Round  went 
the  jugs — once,  twice,  thrice.  Oh  how  we 
gulped  and  guzzled !  Each  man  as  he  had  his 
fill  went  off  and  lay  down  upon  the  straw  on 
the  threshing-floors  at  the  entrance  of  the  vil- 
lage; and  I,  when  the  hens  began  to  have  two 
heads,  did  as  the  rest  and  went  to  lie  down, 
too.  The  dawn  had  just  begun  to  whiten  the 
sky  so  that  the  white  moon  looked  like  a  cym- 
bal nailed  up  there.  But  some  of  the  men 
stayed  on  buzzing  around  the  cask,  kissing  the 
vent  until  the  wine  no  longer  spirted  out  in  a 
clear  rainbow  but  dribbled  out  thick  and  heavy 
off  the  lees. 

But  in  spite  of  our  night's  march,  and  our 
guzzling  on  top  of  it,  we  made  an  early  start. 
No  sooner  did  the  red  sunlight  touch  the  top 
of  Mont  Ventour,  so  that  it  was  like  a  lovely 


ittarcl)  of  tl)c  Marseilles  Battalion.  163 

rose  on  the  highest  branch  of  a  rose  bush,  than 
the  Commandant — who,  with  our  officers,  had 
stood  watch  while  the  drinking  was  going  on 
—ordered  the  drums  to  beat  the  assembly  and 
we  fell  into  line. 

The  Commandant,  with  drawn  sword,  took 
his  position  in  front  of  the -Battalion  and  said  to 
us:  "I  know  that  you  are  good  Patriots.  I 
know  that  you  will  do  your  duty  unto  the  end, 
unto  death.  Friends,  the  Country  is  in  danger. 
France  may  perish.  The  King  has  betrayed 
us  and  has  made  a  pact  with  strange  peoples 
to  destroy  the  Nation.  It  is  our  duty  to  save 
what  he  seeks  to  destroy.  With  our  hearts 
full  of  rage  against  the  tyrant,  and  our  souls 
full  of  love  for  the  Country,  we  will  stride  on 
together  to  Paris  and  show  what  the  Reds  of 
the  Midi  can  do!  "  And  to  this  speech  we  all, 
in  one  formidable  shout,  answered:  "Vivo  la 
Nacien! " 

Then  the  Commandant  turned  toward  the 
Consul  of  Pierrelatte,  who  had  stuck  to  him 
all  night  long,  and  said:  "Citizen  Consul,  tell 
your  Pierrelatte  people  that  we  of  the  Marseilles 
Battalion  are,  as  they  are,  children  of  the  plough 
and  of  the  workshop;  that  we  have  faith  in 
liberty  and  in  justice,  and  that  we  go  to  Paris 
to  overthrow  the  tyrant.  And  tell  them,  too, 


1 64  ®l)e  ftefcs  of  tl)e  ittiM. 

that  we  are  neither  murderers  nor  robbers,  and 
that  we  pay  our  debts."  So  saying,  he  drew 
out  an  assignat  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to 
the  Consul,  adding:  "  Here  is  an  order  on  the 
Treasury  to  pay  for  the  wine  we  have  drunk 
and  the  damage  we  have  done." 

The  poor  Consul  could  not  believe  his  eyes. 
Greatly  moved,  he  took  off  his  cocked-hat; 
and  his  emotion  going  to  his  thin  cock's  legs 
they  more  than  ever  shook  like  castanets.  So 
we  left  him.  The  drums  struck  up  the  march, 
and  singing  the  "Marseillaise"  we  again 
started  on  the  road  to  Paris. 

This  time,  leaving  big  Samat  and  chatter- 
ing Margan,  I  stationed  myself  in  the  rear, 
with  the  cannon,  and  the  forge,  beside  Ser- 
geant Peloux — from  whom  1  had  a  favour  to 
ask.  A  tremendous  longing  to  help  pull  the 
guns  had  taken  hold  of  me :  for  I  thought  that  if 
only  I  could  be  harnessed  up  with  the  others  in 
that  hard  work  I  would  not  seem  so  young.  I 
fancied  to  myself  how  I  would  look  as  we 
passed  through  the  towns  and  villages — bend- 
ing over  and  tugging  at  the  straps,  red  as  fire 
and  dripping  with  sweat,  my  eyes  very  wide 
open  and  rolling  ferociously,  sparks  flying  from 
the  stones  beneath  my  hob-nailed  shoes,  and 
all  the  while  shouting  in  a  voice  as  deep  and 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  165 


as  hoarse  as  I  could  make  it:  "Vivo  la  Na- 
cien!"  I  fancied  how  the  women  and  girls 
and  children  would  stare  at  me;  and  how  I 
would  look  to  them  just  as  the  men  of  the  Bat- 
talion had  looked  to  me  when  they  came  in 
to  Avignon. 

But  at  the  very  first  word  that  I  ventured 
to  say  about  this  to  Sergeant  Peloux  he  set  me 
down  hard.  "Your  turn  will  come  in  good 
time,  little  man,"  said  the  Sergeant.  "We 
haven't  got  to  Paris  yet;  and  before  we  get 
there  you'll  have  your  gaiter's  full  of  toting 
your  bundle  and  your  gun  and  that  sword  that 
is  a  good  deal  longer  than  you  are!  " 

I  didn't  dare  to  make  any  answer  when  I 
got  this  set-back,  and  I  felt  myself  turning  red 
with  shame.  Luckily  for  the  hiding  of  my 
confusion,  a  frightened  hen  just  then  fluttered 
into  the  ranks  and  every  one  tried  to  spit  her 
on  sword  or  bayonet.  Flying  and  running  and 
squawking  as  if  her  head  was  being  cut  off, 
the  hen  came  down  the  line,  and  as  she  passed 
me  I  spitted  her  at  the  first  lunge. 

Proud  as  a  prince,  I  stepped  out  so  as  to 
gain  the  head  of  the  column  and  show  off  my 
hen  ;  and  as  I  passed  up  the  line  I  heard  the 
Federals  saying:  "Look  there,  the  kid  has 
her!"  But  Vauclair  turned  around  frowning; 


166  (ftlje  fteb0  of  llje  HUM. 

and  as  I  came  up  to  him  he  said:  "Whose 
hen  is  that  ?  " 

"It's  mine." 

"  Have  you  paid  for  it?" 

"No,  indeed!" 

"Then  you  have  stolen  it.  Go  to  your 
place.  Don't  let  this  ever  happen  again." 

I  never  had  seen  Vauclair  so  hard ;  and  as 
he  spoke  I  felt  a  sudden  pang  in  my  heart — it 
was  the  first  time  that  I  ever  had  given  him 
pain.  But  1  felt  that  he  was  right  to  blame 
me.  I  had  stolen  that  hen,  and  perhaps  from 
some  poor  man.  I  wanted  to  unspit  her  and 
fling  her  behind  the  hedge,  but  I  did  not  dare 
to.  Yet  I  longed  to  get  rid  of  her.  She  was  a 
weight  on  me  and  made  me  bitterly  ashamed. 
I  had  kept  on  walking  very  fast  and  so  had 
reached  the  head  of  the  Battalion.  In  order  to 
make  tall  Samat  and  chattering  Margan  turn 
around,  and  also  in  order  to  hide  my  con- 
fusion, I  began  to  sing  "Aliens  enfants  de  la 
Patrie ! " 

"Hullo!  is  that  you?"  said  Samat. 
"Look,  Margan,  look  there — what  a  splendid 
big  hen !  Where  did  you  pick  her  up,  kid  ? 
What  geese  we  were  not  to  have  caught  her 
ourselves!" 

"Do  take  her,  if  you  like  her,"  said  I;  and 


ittarcl)  of  tl)e  UlarseiUes  Battalion.  167 

without  any  more  words  I  took  down  my  hen 
and  stuck  her  on  his  bayonet. 

"He's  no  goose,  anyway,  that  kid;  he 
wants  to  make  me  carry  her!  No  matter, 
youngster,  you  shall  have  a  bit  of  her.-"  And 
on  he  marched,  roaring  out:  "Aliens  enfants 
de  la  Patrie!" 

When  I  had  got  rid  of  my  hen  it  seemed  as 
if  a  tremendous  load  had  fallen  from  my  back. 
Vauclair  couldn't  reproach  me  any  longer,  and 
all  things  pleased  me  again ;  the  road  was  gay, 
the  sun  delighted  me.  While  the  men  heavily 
tramped  along — dripping  with  sweat,  suffo- 
cated by  the  white  dust,  and  deafened  by  the 
shrill  voice  of  the  cigales — I,  light  as  air,  went 
and  came  the  whole  length  of  the  Battalion  as 
the  sheep  dog  does  with  his  flock.  I  jumped 
up  on  the  banks  by  the  road  side  and  gathered 
big  blackberries  with  which  I  stuffed  myself 
and  my  pockets. 

Suddenly  the  drums  beat  the  quick-step. 
Samat  unfurled  his  banner,  and  we  steadied 
our  lines.  We  were  entering  the  town  of 
Montelimar.  The  streets  and  open  places  were 
crowded  with  people,  and  more  people  filled 
the  windows  and  doorways.  We  marched  on 
until  we  came  in  front  of  the  Patriot's  Club, 
over  which  the  red  flag  was  floating;  and  then, 


168  (pe  ftete  of  ll)e  ittiM. 

after  a  short  halt,  we  went  to  encamp  outside  of 
the  town  beside  a  river  that  they  told  us  was 
the  Jabron.  Here  we  made  ourselves  com- 
fortable— roasting  the  Mornas  chickens  and 
eating  them  with  good  fresh  bread;  and  then, 
having  loosened  the  knee-buckles  of  our 
breeches  and  taken  off  our  shoes,  we  spread 
ourselves  out  on  the  grass.  Even  for  those  of 
us  who  kept  awake  it  was  a  delicious  rest  to 
go  down  on  one's  elbows  and  stretch  out  at 
full  length  on  the  soft  grass  in  the  shade  of  the 
poplars  and  willows  which  grew  beside  the 
stream. 

I  lay  that  way — half  awake,  half  dreaming, 
turning  over  in  my  mind  for  a  while  the  cruel 
and  bitter  life  I  had  passed  at  La  Garde;  and 
then  forgetting  it  all  as  I  sleepily  watched  a 
white  cloud  up  in  the  sky  that  got  bigger  and 
bigger  and  then  slowly  got  little  again,  and  at 
last  went  quite  away.  Then  I  let  my  head  fall 
between  my  hands  and  watched  with  great  in- 
terest an  ant  who  was  carrying  through  the  grass 
a  crumb  of  bread  bigger  than  himself.  The  little 
creature  would  get  caught  in  a  thick  tangle  of 
grass-blades,  or  would  slip  down  from  a  tall 
stem;  but  off  he  would  start  again,  sometimes 
pushing  and  sometimes  pulling  at  his  load.  In 
pity  for  him,  I  now  and  then  would  take  a 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  169 


twig  and  help  him  on  his  way;  putting  the 
twig  under  him  very  gently,  so  as  not  to  hurt 
him,  and  so  lifting  him  over  a  hard  pass  that 
would  have  cost  him  an  hour  of  climbing  to 
get  over  alone.  And  so  the  afternoon  wore 
away. 

At  sunset  the  brave  Patriots  of  Montelimar 
brought  each  of  us  to  eat  with  our  bread  a 
plaited  rope  of  garlic,  for  that  is  the  food  to 
give  strength  and  courage  to  warriors;  and 
then  the  drums  beat,  and  once  more  we  started 
on  the  road  to  Paris. 

We  marched  all  night  ;  a  warm  clear  summer 
night  with  now  and  then  a  flash  of  heat  light- 
ning low  down  in  the  sky.  As  dawn  came  on 
we  were  wrapped  in  a  cool  mist  that  rose  from 
the  Rhone  and  spread  out  over  the  osiers  and 
the  fields  and  the  flowering  hedges  by  the  road 
side;  but  the  sun  soon  rose  and  drank  it  up. 
It  seemed  strange  to  us  to  find  men  reaping. 
In  Avignon  half  the  grain  already  was  in  the 
granaries;  at  Pierrelatte  they  were  putting  it 
into  sheaves;  and  here  they  were  only  harvest- 
ing !  But  we  were  coming  to  the  frontiers  of  the 
North.  Now  that  we  had  passed  Montelimar 
there  were  no  more  olive-trees  ;  and  the  mari- 
nade, the  soft  sea-wind  off  the  Mediterranean, 
was  far  away.  Here,  where  the  olive  could 


170  ®l)e  Eeb0  of  ll)e  ittibi. 

not  flourish,  were  no  more  cigales — the  ground 
was  too  cold  to  bring  them  forth.  When  I  saw 
cherry-trees  which  were  only  just  losing  their 
blossoms  I  could  not  help  saying:  "How  far 
off  we  are !  " 

Margan  laughed  when  he  heard  me,  and 
broke  out  in  his  chattering  way:  "  Yes,  we've 
come  a  good  way,  but  we're  not  nearly  there 
yet.  Go  ahead  all,  and  the  devil  take  the 
hindermost!  Go  ahead!  It's  not  in  fifteen 
days,  nor  yet  in  twenty  days,  that  we'll  be 
beating  the  moths  out  of  the  King's  council- 
lors. And,  I  say,  boys,  won't  that  make  a  gay 
stir-about  ?  To-morrow  we'll  be  in  Valence. 
But  we  won't  stop  there.  Didn't  the  Com- 
mandant say  that  the  country's  in  danger  ?  We 
won't  stop  till  we  haven't  any  breath  left! 
And  now,  once  more:  'Aux  armes,  cito- 
yens ! ' '  And  as  we  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Drome,  all  singing  at  the  tops  of  our  voices, 
we  fairly  made  the  buttresses  shake ! 

With  bunches  of  box  and  laurel  stuck  in 
our  guns  and  in  our  hats,  covered  with  a  thick 
coat  of  dust,  and  all  singing  "Tremblez,  tyrans 
et  vous  perfides!"  we  crossed  the  city  of 
Valence  at  midday  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun. 
The  whole  population  was  out  to  look  at  us. 
Men,  women  and  children,  all  pale  and  un- 


iHarcl)  of  ttye  ittareeilles  Battalion.   171 

easy,  gazed  at  us  as  we  passed — not  knowing 
whether  to  be  frightened  or  to  be  comforted; 
wondering  who  we  were  and  whence  we 
came  and  where  we  were  going.  As  we 
marched  on  I  heard  an  old  woman  say:  "  It  is 
Jourdain's  army  of  cut-throats!" — and  she 
crossed  herself,  as  if  a  thunder-clap  had  just 
burst  forth. 

But  the  Commandant  called  out :  ' '  No  stop- 
ping! The  country  is  in  danger!"  And  on 
we  went,  the  drums  beating  the  quick-step, 
and  Valence  soon  was  left  behind.  We  sang 
the  "Marseillaise";  and  drum-beat  and  song 
echoed  back  to  us  from  the  limestone  rocks  on 
the  other  bank  of  the  Rhone;  so  that  it  seemed 
as  if  off  there,  too,  another  army  of  the  Reds  of 
the  Midi  were  marching  to  the  assault  of  Paris. 

Rub  your  crusts  of  bread  with  garlic,  good 
Federals,  good  Patriots!  March  bravely  on  and 
on !  Up  there  in  Paris  must  come  the  hardest 
task  of  all.  March  on  and  on  with  bleeding 
feet.  The  way  is  dull  and  hard,  the  road  is 
long — but  at  the  end  stands  Liberty ! 

We  crossed  the  bridge  of  the  Isere,  made 
our  camp  about  sundown  in  the  forest  of  Car- 
nage ;  and  started  again  toward  morning  so  as 
to  reach  by  evening  the  city  of  Vienne.  As 
we  marched  along  the  peasants  dropped  their 


1  72  ®tye  ftebs  0f  llje 


work  and  ran  across  the  fields  to  stare  at  us. 
We  frightened  and  astonished  them  ;  and  when 
we  joked  them  —  calling  out:  "Oh,  he,  ox- 
herd, is  it  fine  to-day  ?"  or  "  Look  out,  reaper, 
your  whet-stone  case  is  leaking!"  —  they  an- 
swered in  a  patois  which  was  neither  one  thing 
nor  the  other  and  like  people  who  did  not  un- 
derstand. It  was  easy  to  see  they  were 
Northern  lumpkins.  Why,  they  had  a  twist 
in  their  talk  that  the  very  devil  must  have 
puffed  into  their  faces;  and  already  they  spoke 
like  the  Paris  folks,  with  a  twang  in  the  nose. 

The  day  went  on,  and  toward  sunset  we 
were  come  close  to  Vienne.  The  city  stood 
before  us,  high  up  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone; 
and  above  the  city  rose  still  higher  the  cathe- 
dral of  Saint  Maurice  —  towering  above  walls 
that  seemed  as  big  and  high  as  those  of  the 
Roman  theatre  at  Orange. 

At  the  sight  of  this  great  city  I  was  seized 
again  by  my  longing  to  be  harnessed  to  our 
cannon,  and  so  to  enter  it  looking  like  a  man. 
I  fell  out  from  the  ranks  under  pretence  of 
fastening  my  shoes  and  let  the  Battalion  pass 
until  the  rear-guard  came  up  to  me  with  the 
cannon  and  forge. 

"See  here,  partner,"  said  I  to  a  Federal 
whose  feet  were  cut  and  bleeding  but  who 


ittard)  of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  173 

was  tugging  away  at  his  harness  strap,  puff- 
ing and  blowing  like  an  angry  lizard.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  that  cannon  isn't  walking 
alone.'  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  youngster.  If  you'd  like 
to  try  a  pull,  we'll  see  what  meat  you  are 
made  of." 

"  It  is  just  what  I  want  to  do,"  I  answered; 
and  without  more  words  I  laid  my  gun  and 
sword  and  bundle  on  the  truck,  the  Federal 
slipped  out  of  his  strap  and  slipped  me  into  it 
without  stopping  the  march — and  there  1  was, 
pulling  with  might  and  main. 

Sergeant  Peloux,  when  he  saw  the  first  tug 
I  gave  at  the  collar,  called  out:  "  Go  slow,  kid, 
you'll  be  blown  in  no  time  at  that  rate — to  say 
nothing  of  smashing  the  harness." 

This  snubbing,  though  it  was  only  in  fun, 
quieted  me  for  a  minute  or  two;  but  then  off  I 
went  again,  tugging  harder  than  ever.  As  we 
started  up  the  slope  to  the  city  all  the  bells 
were  ringing  and  cannon  were  thundering  out 
from  the  walls;  and  as 'we  got  higher  the 
townsfolk  came  out  to  meet  us  in  swarms.  It 
was  the  Fourteenth  of  July,  the  festival  of  the 
Federation.  We  had  barely  room  to  pass,  the 
streets  were  so  crowded;  and  the  people  had 
to  look  out  for  their  toes  as  our  wheels  rumbled 


174  ®be  fte&Q  of  111 e  fttibi. 

and  bumped  over  the  stones.  In  order  to  be  the 
more  looked  at,  I  bent  over  almost  on  all  fours, 
like  a  beast.  When  I  passed  a  group  of  girls  I 
raised  my  head  a  little  and,  red  as  a  flaming 
devil  and  with  flashing  eyes,  I  made  my  voice 
deep  and  shouted:  "Vivo  la  Nacien!"  And 
how  enchanted  I  was  when  now  and  then 
some  girl  pointed  me  out  and  said:  "Just  look 
at  that  young  fellow.  Goodness,  how  he 
frightens  me!  "  But  what  I  did  not  like  to  hear 
was  when  they  said:  "Oh,  poor  little  one! 
He  is  hardly  more  than  a  child — he  hasn't  a 
hair  on  his  chin!  "  Then  I  would  drag  harder 
than  ever  at  my  harness,  and  shout  louder  than 
ever:  "Vivo  la  Nacien!"  I  even  thundered 
out  big  words  and  big  oaths  one  on  top  of  the 
other.  I  was  very  young,  then ! 

The  Patriots  of  Vienne  entertained  us  well 
that  evening;  and  the  next  morning,  before 
leaving  the  city,  the  Battalion  went  to  pre- 
sent arms  before  the  altar  of  the  Federation 
that  had  been  raised  in  the  open  space  in  front 
of  the  church.  Here  we  all  bent  the  knee 
and  sang  the  verse:  "Amour  sacre  de  la  Pa- 
trie!  "  Hardly  had  we  ended  it  when  a  group 
of  school  children,  led  by  their  teacher,  a  young 
Abbe,  presented  themselves  before  the  altar 
and,  kneeling  as  we  had  done,  sang  to  the  air 


of  ttje  ittarseilies  Battalion.  175 


of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  a  verse  that  we  never  be- 
fore had  heard,  beginning: 

In  the  path  our  elders  showed  us 
We  will  follow  when  they're  gone. 

This  beautiful  verse  set  our  patriotic  fires  to 
blazing  and  upset  us  completely.  Tears  were 
in  all  eyes,  and  each  one  of  us  took  up  a  child 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  it  over  and  over  again. 
Older  people  embraced  each  other,  and  every 
one  shouted  "  Vive  les  Federes!  Vive  la  Na- 
tion! Down  with  the  tyrant  King!  " 

Commandant  Moisson  hugged  the  little 
Abbe,  who  had  made  all  out  of  his  own  head 
the  new  verse,  and  said:  "Thanks,  Patriot, 
thanks!  We  will  sing  your  children's  verse 
on  the  ruins  of  the  King's  Castle."  And  the 
little  Abbe,  his  eyes  wet  with  tears,  answered  : 
"  Your  patriotic  song  went  right  to  my  heart, 
and  sent  a  thrill  into  the  very  marrow  of  my 
bones.  Never  before  have  I  heard  the  voice  of 
God  ring  out  so  clear:  may  His  blessing  go 
with  you  and  His  arm  give  you  strength  !  " 
Then  the  drums  rattled  and  off  we  marched 
to  "  Allons  enfants  de  la  Patrie!  " 

All  Vienne  followed  us,  shouting.  I  had 
harnessed  myself  again  to  the  truck.  A  little 
monkey  six  or  seven  years  old  took  upon  him 
13 


176  ®l)e  Eeb0  of 


to  carry  my  gun,  another  one  carried  my 
sword,  and  a  third  my  bundle.  A  swarm  of 
children  buzzed  around  and  followed  us  like  so 
many  flies.  From  time  to  time  the  smallest 
had  to  run  in  order  to  keep  up  with  us.  1  felt 
that  no  one  could  understand  as  I  did  the  de- 
light of  these  little  fellows.  It  made  me  as 
proud  as  a  pig  on  stilts  to  see  how  they  ad- 
mired me  and  how  set  up  they  were  by  carry- 
ing my  gun  or  my  sword,  or  even  by  my  let- 
ting them  finger  the  fine  gilt  buttons  on  my  coat. 
But  as  we  went  on  farther  and  farther,  and 
the  town  came  to  be  a  long  way  behind  us, 
we  had  to  tell  the  children  that  it  was  time  for 
them  to  go  home.  Handing  back  the  arms 
and  the  other  things  we  had  allowed  them  to 
carry,  the  good  little  fellows  obeyed  us  and 
stopped  short  :..and  there  they  stood  watching 
us,  longingly,  until  we  were  hidden  from  them 
by  a  turn  in  the  road.  Just  as  they  lost  sight 
of  us  they  all  together  began  to  sing  in  their 
high  pitched  clear  voices  the  verse  which  the 
little  Abbe  had  added  to  the  "  Marseillaise  "  : 

In  the  path  our  elders  showed  us 
We  will  follow  when  they're  gone. 

Without  any  order  being  given,  the  whole 
Battalion   halted;    and   we    stood   silent    and 


of  ll)e  Marseilles  Sattalion.  177 


deeply  moved  listening  to  that  thrilling  song. 
It  seemed  to  go  deep  down  into  our  hearts, 
and  we  were  comforted  and  strengthened  by 
it.  Turning  about  and  facing  us,  Commandant 
Moisson  said:  "Listen,  friends,  listen  well  — 
for  this  is  the  last  time  that  you  will  hear  the 
sound  of  Patriot  voices;  the  voices  of  the  Reds 
of  the  Midi.  Our  feet  are  now  on  Northern 
soil.  Henceforward  we  shall  be  among  the 
Anti-Patriots  —  the  men  who  have  tried  to  stop 
the  Revolution  by  opening  to  strangers  and 
enemies  the  frontiers  of  France.  Let  us  show 
the  Aristocrats  who  we  are  and  what  we  want. 
Let  them  know  that  nothing  can  turn  us  back; 
that  for  us  it  is  Death  or  Liberty!"  Then  the 
drums  beat  and  again  we  went  on. 

We  marched  almost  steadily  for  three  days 
and  nights  —  drinking  the  water  of  brooks  and 
ditches,  eating  only  bread  and  garlic,  and  taking 
only  snatches  of  sleep  as  the  chance  came.  Up 
there  in  the  land  of  fogs  we  could  not  count 
on  the  soft  straw  of  the  threshing-floors  for  our 
rest  by  night,  nor  on  the  cool  dry  grass  of 
shady  fields  for  our  rest  by  day.  Not  a  bit  of 
it!  The  wheat  was  just  getting  into  ear  in 
that  country  of  nothing  —  which  God  certainly 
had  gone  through  by  night  —  and  the  fields  were 
soaking  with  dew  or  mist  until  three  or  four  in 


1 78  ®lje  Eebs  of  tlje  illibi. 

the  afternoon :  it  took  the  sun  so  long  to  drink 
up  the  moisture. 

Well,  as  I  said,  we  marched  for  three  days 
and  three  nights,  and  so  came  to  the  bridge  of 
Saint-Jean  d'Ardieres — farther  north  than  Lyons 
(which  city  we  had  passed  at  early  dawn  with- 
out stopping) ;  farther  north,  even,  than  Ville- 
franche.  There,  on  the  shady  banks  of  the 
Ardieres,  we  halted  for  some  hours  during  the 
hottest  part  of  the  day.  In  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  the  Battalion  was  at  rest  beside  the 
river.  Some  stretched  themselves  out  in  the 
shade  of  the  willows;  one  dabbled  in  the 
clear  water,  another  ate  a  bit  of  bread,  another 
mended  a  tear  in  his  clothes,  and  another  put 
a  stitch  in  his  shoe.  But  I  remained  on  the 
bridge  with  the  cannon ;  for  Vauclair  had  toid 
me  that  the  Paris  coach  might  pass  us  there, 
and  not  for  an  empire  would  I  have  gone  to 
sleep  and  so  missed  the  chance  of  seeing  Lazuli 
and  little  Clairet. 

In  order  to  amuse  myself  while  the  others 
slept,  I  seated  myself  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge 
and  spread  open  my  bundle  that  Lazuli  had  so 
well  put  up  for  me  and  had  so  carefully  knotted 
and  arranged.  I  examined  my  two  pistols — 
taking  out  and  sharpening  the  flints  and  rubbing 
off  here  and  there  a  spot  of  rust — and  it  seemed 


of  ttye  Marseilles  Battalion.  179 


to  me  that  in  possessing  them  I  possessed  all 
that  a  man  could  desire  to  own  on  this  earth. 
Then  I  uncorked  my  gourd  full  of  brandy  and 
sniffed  at  it,  and  without  tasting  it  enjoyed  the 
good  smell.  I  felt  the  three  silver  crowns  that 
Monsieur  Randoulet,  good  Monsieur  Randoulet, 
had  given  me.  I  tried  on  my  sash,  my  fine 
red  taiolo;  I  looked  at  my  black  shining  pow- 
der and  counted  my  store  of  pistol  balls  ;  and 
then,  before  packing  all  up  again,  I  turned  to 
my  pistols  once  more.  Oh,  my  pistols!  I 
could  not  bear  to  let  them  out  of  my  hands.  I 
could  not  tire  of  looking  at  them.  And  to 
think  that  they  were  my  own! 

While  I  was  going  on  with  all  this  child's 
play  a  noise  made  me  jump  —  the  sound  of  bells. 
I  thought  that  it  must  be  the  coach;  and  I 
turned  around  and  stared  off  into  the  distance 
as  far  as  I  could  see  the  road.  There  was 
nothing  in  sight  —  not  the  smallest  black  spot, 
not  a  puff  of  dust  —  and  yet  nearer  and  clearer 
came  the  sound  of  jingling  bells.  And  then, 
while  I  listened  with  pricked  up  ears  and  stared 
down  the  empty  highway,  there  came  out  from 
a  sunken  road  behind  a  flowering  hedge  close 
by  me  a  little  flock  of  ten  or  twelve  sheep,  fol- 
lowed by  an  old  shepherd  who,  in  spite  of  the 
heat,  was  closely  muffled  in  his  big  shepherd's 


i8o  £|e  fteb0  of 


cloak.  As  soon  as  the  old  man  saw  me  he 
bent  down  his  head,  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  turned  as  if  to  retrace  his  steps.  But 
it  was  too  late.  The  sheep  already  had  jumped 
up  on  the  road  and  he  had  to  follow  them.  He 
seemed  to  be  less  fearful  when  he  found  that  I 
was  all  alone,  for  he  came  toward  me  and 
asked  me  the  way  to  the  ferry  across  the 
Rhone. 

"  I'm  the  wrong  one  to  come  to  with  that 
question,  good  man,"  said  I,  "for  I  don't  be- 
long in  these  parts.'' 

"Who  are  you,  then,  and  where  are  you 
going,"  he  asked  kindly.  "You  look  very 
young  to  be  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  Na- 
tional Guard." 

"I  am  a  Federal  Patriot,  and  I  am  going  to 
Paris  with  the  Marseilles  Battalion  to  make 
the  King  hear  reason  and  to  bring  him  to 
terms." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Bring  to 
terms  our  King,  our  good  King,  the  father  of 
us  all!  What  are  you  thinking  about,  my 
child  ?  But  where  is  this  Marseilles  Battal- 
ion ?" 

"There  is  our  artillery,"  I  answered,  point- 
ing to  the  cannon.  "  Our  men  are  down  there 
by  the  river,  resting  in  the  shade." 


of  tlje  Marseilles  Battalion.   181 


"Oh  Saints  of  God  have  mercy!  "  exclaimed 
the  old  shepherd,  raising  his  eyes  on  high  and 
putting  his  hands  together  in  the  way  a  priest 
does  when  he  says  mass.  "Is  it  possible,  my 
child,  that  you  have  been  misled  to  believe  that 
the  King  must  be  '  made  to  hear  reason  '  as 
you  call  it  so  glibly  ?  Listen  well  to  me,  for 
you  are  in  an  evil  way  :  you  are  going  straight 
into  the  jaws  of  hell.  I  also  am  a  good  patriot; 
and  I  tell  you  that  you  will  better  serve  your 
country  if  you  will  stay  here  as  a  shepherd,  as 
I  am  doing,  than  if  you  go  up  with  your  Bat- 
talion into  the  North.  Come  now,  I  will  make 
you  a  good  offer.  You  shall  help  me  to  take 
care  of  my  flock,  and  I  will  pay  you  well  and 
you  will  have  little  work  to  do.  And  when 
we  have  led  the  flock  up  into  the  high  pas- 
tures in  the  Alps  I  will  give  you  a  third  of  it 
for  your  own.  You  will  be  a  little  capitalist." 

"  Desert  the  Battalion!  "  I  cried.  "  Never! 
You  might  give  me  all  the  sheep  in  all  the  moun- 
tains and  on  all  the  plains,  and  you  might  stuff 
my  pockets  full  of  gold  crowns  —  but  I  never 
would  stir  from  the  Battalion  so  much  as  a 
single  step!  Vive  la  Nation!  Liberty  or 
Death  !  " 

"Poor  child,  poor  child,  your  head  is 
turned!  So  young,  and  talking  of  death.  Un- 


182  (Efye  ftefcs  of  ll)e  itlibi. 

happy  boy!  Don't  you  know  that  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  when  he  died  on  the  cross  forgave 
those  who  put  him  to  death  ?  Are  there  no 
cures  in  your  country,  have  you  never  heard 
good  Christian  words  ?  " 

"Yes  indeed,  there  is  a  good  cure  in  our 
village;  he  is  as  good  as  he  can  be,  and  his 
name  is  Monsieur  Randoulet.  He  saved  my 
life;  he  drew  me  out  of  the  claws  of  the  Mar- 
quis and  his  game-keeper  who  wanted  to  kill 
me." 

"Well  then,  my  child,  in  the  name  of  that 
holy  man  who  saved  your  life,  listen  to  me. 
Promise  me  that  until  your  last  gasp  you 
always  will  carry  about  you  this  medal  on 
which  is  the  image  of  Notre-Dame-de-Bon- 
Secours.  She  will  keep  you  from  wrong  do- 
ing." 

As  he  spoke,  the  old  shepherd  pulled  a 
plug  out  of  the  top  of  his  staff;  and  from  the 
hollow  place  inside,  as  he  turned  the  staff  up- 
side down,  there  fell  out  shining  medals  and 
louis-d'ors.  He  took  a  medal,  pressed  it  to  his 
lips,  and  gave  it  to  me.  Then  he  took  one  of 
the  gold  pieces  and  also  gave  it  to  me,  saying: 
"The  medal  is  a  coin  that  will  save  your  soul 
from  sin,  and  the  louis-d'or  is  a  coin  that  will 
keep  your  body  from  poverty  and  harm.  If 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  183 


ever  you  chance  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  those 
whom  you  believe  are  such  wicked  people, 
those  whom  you  call  Anti-Patriots,  show  them 
your  medal  and  it  will  save  your  life.  But 
speak  not  to  any  one  of  what  you  have  just 
seen  and  heard.  Now  I  must  leave  you.  I 
am  in  haste.  May  God  take  you  in  his  holy 
keeping." 

As  he  talked  to  me  the  old  shepherd  gently 
stroked  my  cheeks  as  Monsieur  Randoulet  was 
used  to  do  when  he  met  me  on  the  road  to 
the  Chateau  de  la  Garde,  and  I  felt  him  mak- 
ing with  his  thumb  the  sign  of  the  cross  on 
my  forehead.  Then,  followed  by  his  sheep, 
he  went  quickly  down  the  other  side  of  the 
road;  and  as  he  passed  away  from  me  I 
still  heard  him  repeating:  "Poor  child!  Poor 
child!" 

I  was  so  surprised  that  I  just  stared  after 
him  and  never  said  thank  you.  I  watched 
him  until  he  was  hidden  from  me  by  a  dip  in  the 
land,  and  then  I  came  back  to  my  bundle,  all 
open  and  spread  out  on  the  bridge.  Somehow 
this  encounter  had  upset  me  and  changed  my 
thoughts.  Neither  pistols  nor  red  scarf  amused 
me  any  more.  I  began  to  put  together  my 
bundle  again;  and  while  doing  this  I  heard  the 
sound  of  horses  galloping  beyond  the  very 


1 84  ®l)e  ttebs  of  ll)e  ittiM. 

flowering  hedge  from  behind  which  the  shep- 
herd had  come  forth  with  his  flock. 

I  turned  around  quickly ;  and  to  my  amaze- 
ment I  saw  four  mounted  gendarmes,  cockade 
in  hat,  with  drawn  swords  and  pistols  stuck 
in  their  belts,  riding  straight  toward  me  at  full 
gallop  as  if  they  meant  to  cut  me  down.  But 
they  drew  up  short  on  the  bridge,  and  their 
leader  asked  me  sharply:  "Citizen  Patriot, 
have  you  seen  pass  here  a  shepherd  with  a  dull 
brown  cloak  around  him  driving  a  little  flock 
of  sheep  ? " 

My  blood  ran  cold  at  this  question,  for  it 
showed  me  that  trouble  was  in  store  for  the 
poor  old  man.  Instantly,  without  stopping 
to  think  about  it,  I  answered:  "No!" 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  the  roughest  looking 
of  the  lot.  "We  should  have  stuck  to  his 
tracks.  Then  the  country  would  be  safer,  for 
we  would  have  delivered  the  Revolution  from 
its  worst  enemy." 

What  the  fellow  said  startled  me.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  the  old  shepherd  was  an  ene- 
my to  the  good  cause  ?  I  was  sorry  1  had  said 
no  so  quickly,  and  I  corrected  myself  by  add- 
ing: "I  did  not  see  him,  but  if  I  do  not  mis- 
take 1  heard  the  sheep-bells  down  there  along 
the  river  path." 


of  ll)c  Marseilles  Battalion.  185 


"That  must  be  he,"  said  the  leader  of  the 
gendarmes;  and  in  a  moment  they  had  turned 
their  horses  and  had  gone  galloping  along  the 
path  the  old  shepherd  had  followed  when  he 
left  me. 

At  first  I  scarcely  realized  what  had  passed, 
and  then  I  began  to  be  frightened.  Ought  I  to 
hold  my  tongue  about  it  all,  or  ought  I  to  tell 
Vauclair,  I  wondered;  while  the  blood  mounted 
up  into  my  cheeks  and  my  heart  beat  fast.  I 
hoped  that  the  old  man  had  taken  a  cross-road 
and  would  not  be  caught,  for  I  felt  that  I  had 
set  his  pursuers  on  his  track.  And  then,  as  I 
did  not  know  what  I  ought  to  do,  I  went  back 
to  my  bundle  and  began  to  put  it  together 
again.  The  sun  was  going  down  and  I  knew 
that  it  soon  would  be  time  for  the  Battalion  to 
start.  Some  of  our  men  came  up  on  the  bridge 
—  while  1  still  was  fussing  over  my  bundle  and 
staring  along  the  path  that  the  old  shepherd 
had  taken  —  and  presently  I  thought  that  I 
could  hear,  above  their  talking,  the  sound  of 
more  distant  voices  and  the  jingling  of  bells. 

I  was  right.  A  minute  or  so  later  I  saw  red 
plumes  showing  through  the  willows,  and  then 
out  came  the  four  gendarmes  cruelly  drag- 
ging after  them  the  poor  old  shepherd  tied  fast 
to  a  horse's  tail  as  if  he  had  been  a  robber. 


i86  Ql\)e  Hefts  of  il)e  ittibi. 

He  was  in  danger  of  being  crushed  by  the  feet 
of  the  prancing  and  kicking  horses,  who 
knocked  him  about  and  covered  him  with  their 
sweat  and  foam.  As  the  gendarmes  rode  up  to 
us  on  the  bridge  they  raised  their  swords  and 
shouted  "Vive  la  Nation!"  and  our  men,  of 
course,  crowded  around  them  asking  questions. 

"What  has  he  done?"  demanded  Captain 
Gamier. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Samat,  "that  you 
are  pretty  hard  on  him.     No  doubt  he  is  an 
Anti-Patriot;  but  let  him  go  now  and  1  will 
give  him  The  Rights  of  Man  to  munch  on  "- 
and  he  began  to  unfurl  his  banner. 

"He  is  a  traitor,  a  miserable  wretch  that 
death  is  too  good  for.  Vive  la  Nation! "  an- 
swered the  leader  of  the  gendarmes. 

At  this  answer  each  man  had  his  own 
thread  to  spin.  "  Let  him  be  tried  at  once  and 
give  him  Marseilles  plums  to  taste!  "  cried  one. 
"No,  powder's  too  good  to  waste  on  traitors. 
A  rope  necklace  is  good  enough  for  him ! " 
cried  another.  "Into  the  river  with  him!" 
cried  a  third.  Every  one  had  his  say;  and  in 
the  midst  of  it  all  the  poor  old  man's  heart 
died  out  of  him  and,  pale  as  death,  he  dropped 
down  on  the  road. 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  him  drop  that  wav. 


of  tlje  Marseilles  Sattalicm.  187 


With  the  help  of  two  or  three  Federals  who 
were  as  sorry  for  him  as  I  was,  1  lifted  him  up 
and  seated  him  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge 
beside  my  still  open  bundle;  and  while  the 
gendarmes  were  talking  together,  settling  how 
they  would  carry  him  on  one  of  their  horses  if 
he  couldn't  or  wouldn't  walk,  I  quickly  un- 
corked my  brandy-flask  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 
The  strength  of  the  liquor  brought  back  some 
life  into  him  and  he  opened  his  eyes.  Taking 
my  hand  in  his,  he  whispered  so  that  no  one 
but  I  heard  him:  "Thank  you,  my  child. 
May  God  repay  you." 

Seeing  him  so  sickly,  so  weak,  so  old,  our 
men  changed  their  key  and  fell  to  pitying  him, 
muttering  that  unless  he  were  a  very  great 
traitor  he  might  as  well  be  let  go.  I  was  long- 
ing to  get  rid  of  the  weight  on  my  heart  that 
came  from  having  given  him  into  the  hands  of 
his  enemies,  and  these  mutterings  gave  me 
courage  to  step  up  to  the  gendarmes  who 
were  preparing  to  hoist  him  on  one  of  the 
horses  and  to  say:  "This  man  is  half  dead,  he 
can  not  do  any  harm.  What  difference  can  it 
make  to  us  whether  he  is  a  Patriot  or  an  Anti- 
Patriot  ?  Let  him  go  and  take  care  of  his  flock 
—which  is  most  likely  all  he  owns  on  earth, 
he  and  his  poor  wife  and  children." 


1 88  aije  ttebs  of  tl)e  iflibi. 

"Our  little  man  is  quite  right,"  called  out 
several  of  our  men  together. 

"He's  right,  is  he?  I'll  show  you  if  he's 
right ! "  answered  one  of  the  gendarmes  angrily ; 
and,  tumbling  off  his  horse,  he  flung  himself 
like  a  wolf  on  the  old  shepherd  and  dragged 
from  his  shoulders  his  big  cloak.  And  there — 
Saints  of  God!  there  was  our  old  man  in  a 
handsome  violet  robe  with  a  band  of  fine  lace 
and  a  golden  cross  that  shone  on  his  breast! 
"Here's  the  poor  man  you  were  sorry  for!" 
cried  the  gendarme.  "  He  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  the  Bishop  of  Mende,  the  ci-devant 
Monseigneur  de  Castillane;  and,  just  as  you 
see  him  here,  he  is  the  commander  of  twenty 
thousand  Royalists  who  are  holding  the  camp 
of  Jales.  And  do  you  want  to  know  where  he 
was  going  ?  He  was  going,  the  traitor,  to 
join  the  emigres  and  foreigners  who  are  plot- 
ting together  to  ruin  the  Revolution.  I'll  prove 
it  to  you — look  here!"  As  he  spoke,  he 
snatched  the  shepherd's  staff  from  him  and 
pulled  out  the  plug  and  turned  it  upside 
down.  Out  poured  medals  and  louis-d'ors; 
and  then,  as  he  shook  it,  out  came  a  roll 
of  parchment.  The  gendarme  spread  open 
the  roll  before  us;  and  Commandant  Mois- 
son,  reading  it,  cried  out:  "You  are  right. 


of  tf)e  ittaraeilles  Battalion.  189 


This  man  is  a   traitor.     Here  is  the  Royalist 
plot!" 

Our  men  needed  no  more.  "To  the  river 
with  him!"  "Kill  him!"  "Death  to  the 
traitor!"  they  shouted;  and  there  was  a  rush 
toward  him  and  hands  were  raised  and  swords 
were  drawn.  But  the  gendarmes  guarded  him 
while  they  tied  him  fast  to  the  tail  of  a  horse 
again  ;  and  the  leader  said  grimly  :  "  No,  friends, 
this  piece  of  work  we  will  attend  to  ourselves!  " 
And  so  they  rode  away. 

In  a  couple  of  minutes  we  lost  sight  of 
them,  and  then  our  drums  beat  and  we  started 
again  on  our  march. 

As  we  went  onward  our  men  sang  and 
joked  and  talked  about  the  lucky  capture  of 
the  Bishop.  But  I  kept  silence.  The  louis- 
d'or  and  the  medal  burnt  my  pocket.  I  could 
not  bear  to  think  about  them.  Traitor  or  not, 
I  felt  very  sorry  for  the  old  man.  My  heart 
almost  failed  me  when,  as  we  came  out  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bridge,  I  saw  his  deserted 
sheep  wandering  about  aimlessly.  The  poor 
beasts  would  crop  a  while,  and  then  suddenly 
would  stop  eating;  and  with  their  mouths 
full  of  grass  they  would  look  around  in 
every  direction,  bleating  piteously  for  their 
lost  shepherd.  After  we  had  marched  a 


of 


good  way  we  still  could  hear  them  forlornly 
bleating. 

Our  long  tramp  began  to  tell  on  us,  and  as 
we  marched  the  men  became  more  and  more 
silent.  The  kits  and  accoutrements,  so  easy 
to  carry  at  first,  grew  to  be  an  intolerable  bur- 
den on  our  backs.  Many  of  the  men  fell  foot- 
sore and  some  of  the  lamest  took  off  their 
shoes,  finding  it  more  comfortable  to  jog  along 
barefoot  in  the  soft  dust  of  the  road.  I  was 
harnessed  again  to  my  cannon,  and  I  tugged 
away  patiently. 

We  had  reached  an  evil  land,  a  place  of 
Aristocrats.  The  country  through  which  we 
were  passing  was  dreary  and  dismal,  and  was 
overhung  by  a  dreary  dull  sky  made  still  more 
dull  by  the  long  flocks  of  crows  flying  across 
it.  In  every  direction,  as  far  as  we  could  see, 
great  fields  of  beans  and  beets  and  vetches 
stretched  on  and  on  with  never  a  tree  in  them. 
The  houses  and  huts  were  roofed  with  slates 
of  a  dismal  black,  and  the  stern  and  silent  peo- 
ple living  there  were  like  the  land.  Everybody 
we  met  on  the  road  or  in  the  villages  gave  us 
sidewise  suspicious  glances,  such  as  a  dog 
gives  when  he  is  carrying  off  a  bone.  The 
people  all  looked  alike  —  with  their  big,  pale, 
pasty-white,  close-shaven,  dirty,  hang-dog, 


Jttarcl)  of  li)c  iHarseilU0  Battalion,   19* 

stupid  animal  faces  all  jowl.  They  never  gave 
us  a  smile,  much  less  a  bottle  of  wine;  they 
gave  us  nothing,  indeed,  but  the  cold  shoulder, 
and  so  slouched  away.  When  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, they  turned  and  shook  their  fists  at  us. 
Even  the  sun  hid  himself  behind  a  dull  thick 
mist,  like  a  dead  man  under  a  shroud;  and  yet 
his  heat  was  overpoweringly  oppressive. 

On  we  tramped  dully  and  doggedly,  hun- 
gry, ,weary  and  footsore.  We  had  no  heart  for 
laugh  or  song.  Commandant  Moisson  and 
Captain  Gamier  began  to  be  uneasy,  fearing 
that  we  would  lose  heart.  They  mingled  in 
the  ranks,  doing  all  they  could  to  cheer  us. 
They  told  us  of  the  wretched  condition  of  the 
people  of  France  and  how  the  wretchedness 
would  be  relieved  as  soon  as  we  reached  Paris 
and  seized  the  King's  Castle.  Only  nine  days 
more  of  marching,  they  said,  and  the  coun- 
try would  be  saved,  the  Revolution  trium- 
phant. Then  all  men  would  be  free  and  all 
hunger  satisfied.  The  harvests  of  the  land 
would  belong  to  those  who  had  sown  the  seed 
thereof;  the  fruits  of  the  land  would  be  gath- 
ered by  those  who  had  grafted  the  trees  and 
delved  about  their  roots;  to  the  shepherd 
would  belong  the  sheep. 

As  for  me,  I  needed  no  cheering  words. 
14 


192  8Tl)e  fteb0  of  tl)e 


Stones  were  bread  for  me,  I  could  have  eaten 
thistles  and  thorns,  I  could  have  walked  on 
broken  glass,  nothing  could  have  discouraged 
me.  I  pulled  away  like  a  galley-slave  in  my 
harness  —  only  wishing  that  I  could  drag  both 
the  cannon  and  the  forge  all  by  myself.  It 
hurt  me  to  hear  the  older  men,  who  had  left 
wife  and  child  in  Marseilles  or  Aubagne  or 
Aries,  muttering  among  themselves,  as  if 
afraid  of  being  overheard:  "Who  knows  how 
all  this  is  going  to  end  ?  "  "  We  didn't  know 
Paris  was  so  far  away  !  "  "  The  National  Guard 
is  all  for  the  King  and  may  go  against  us." 
"  It  seems  we  are  to  be  forced  to  camp  outside 
of  Paris."  "Then  all  our  long  tramp  will  have 
been  for  nothing!"  And  so  they  grumbled 
on.  It  just  broke  my  heart  to  hear  them  talk 
in  this  way.  To  cheer  myself  and  to  get  some 
go  into  me,  I  would  burst  out  into  the  "  Mar- 
seillaise "  —  and  that  for  a  moment  would  heart- 
en up  the  whole  Battalion. 

But  the  endless  road  was  always  the  same 
long  weary  way,  lengthened  out  like  a  bread- 
less  day.  The  villages  and  hamlets  were 
always  as  dismal  as  their  dull  distrustful  stupid 
inhabitants,  not  one  of  whom  would  have 
freely  given  us  so  much  as  a  drop  of  water. 
Had  their  eyes  been  knives,  they  would  have 


of  tlje  Marseilles  Battalion.  193 


stabbed  us  through  and  through.  How  could 
we,  then,  be  light  of  heart?  God's  fire  was 
fast  dying  out  of  our  cold  breasts  and  we 
needed  some  great  stirring  to  kindle  it  anew. 

Macon,  Tournus  and  Chalons  were  left  be- 
hind. We  had  just  marched  through  Autun  — 
a  hateful  Aristocratical  hole  —  without  any  one 
giving  us  a  good  word.  It  was  about  five 
o'clock  and  the  sun  was  low.  I  was  pulling 
away  in  my  harness  and  Vauclair  was  walking 
beside  me.  He  seemed  thoughtful  and  sad 
as  he  said  to  me:  "I  don't  see  why  the 
Avignon  coach  has  not  caught  up  with  us. 
Can  anything  have  happened  to  it?  I  feel 
anxious.  I  long  so  to  see  Lazuli  and  my  dear 
little  Clairet.  Lazuli  certainly  told  you  that  she 
would  take  the  very  first  coach  that  left  Avi- 
gnon ?  " 

"Yes,  certainly;  and  she  said  she  would 
pass  us  on  the  way." 

"The  coach  pays  tribute  to  the  robbers  of 
the  Bos  de  la  Damo,  and  so  is  safe  from  them," 
Vauclair  went  on.  "  But  there  are  the  King's 
carabineer's,  who  are  not  less,  perhaps  are 
even  more,  to  be  dreaded  than  the  robbers. 
But  at  the  very  latest,  if  nothing  has  happened, 
the  coach  ought  certainly  to  catch  up  with  us 
by  to-morrow  at  Saulieu,  where  we  shall  camp 


194  ®l)e  Eebs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

to-night.     Saulieu  is  a  town  full  of  good  Pa- 
triots  " 

Vauclair  did  not  finish  what  he  was  saying. 
All  of  a  sudden  we  heard  the  shrieks  of  women 
and  children  coming,  as  it  seemed,  from  a  hut 
about  a  sling-shot  away  from  the  road — a  poor 
little  place,  so  low  that  its  thatched  roof  looked 
to  be  almost  a  part  of  the  ground. 

"  Help!  Help!  "  came  the  cry  in  a  woman's 
voice.  In  a  moment  a  dozen  of  our  men  had 
jumped  the  ditch  and  were  running  across  the 
beet-fields  to  find  out  what  was  the  matter. 
As  they  entered  the  hut  the  cries  and  screams 
ceased;  and  presently  they  came  back  to  us, 
bringing  prisoner  a  red-faced  Capuchin  monk, 
so  fat  that  he  seemed  as  if  he  would  burst  his 
tight  skin,  and  three  bailiffs  as  thin  as  rails  and 
yellow  as  saffron.  After  them  followed  a  peas- 
ant and  his  wife,  and  then  came  a  troop  of 
ragged  dirty  faced  children  that  looked  just  as 
I  used  to  look  up  there  in  the  hut  of  La  Garde. 

"What's  all  this  row?"  asked  Comman- 
dant Moisson,  looking  sternly  at  the  Capuchin 
and  the  three  bailiffs  shivering  and  cringing  in 
the  clutches  of  our  men. 

"The  matter  is,"  said  Margan,  who  was 
always  ready  to  put  in  his  word,  "that  this 
Capuchin  father,  who  already  is  bursting  out 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  195 


of  his  skin  from  over-eating,  brought  the  three 
bailiffs  with  him  to  carry  off  this  poor  peasant 
and  give  him  the  strappado  because  he  hasn't 
paid  his  tithe  of  chickens.  " 

"What!  Tithes  no  w-a-days!  "  cried  long 
Samat  "Why,  all  that  sort  of  thing  has  been 
abolished  by  The  Rights  of  Man  !  "  And  then 
turning  toward  the  Capuchin,  he  added: 
"And  so  we  are  no  longer  in  France  —  you 
dirty  bundle  of  lard!  " 

"But  that  isn't  all,"  Margan  went  on. 
"The  old  glutton  had  got  loose  the  peasant's 
cow  and  was  for  taking  her  away  too  —  so  that 
he  should  be  paid  for  his  trouble,  he  said." 

Our  men  were  all  on  fire  in  a  moment  over 
this  outrage,  and  some  of  them  began  to  cast 
loose  the  straps  from  the  cannon  in  order  to 
make  the  Capuchin  and  the  bailiffs  for  once  in 
their  lives  taste  leather.  But  the  Commandant 
raised  his  hand  for  silence  and  said:  "It  is 
strange  that  a  thing  of  this  sort  should  go  on 
in  France  now-a-days.  We  must  make  an 
example  of  those  four  Anti-Patriots.  They 
shall  be  stripped  as  bare  as  worms,  and  with- 
out a  thread  on  them  they  shall  haul  the  forge 
to  Paris!  Margan,  you  be  driver;  and  if  they 
need  food  to  make  them  go,  do  you  feed  them 
well  with  dry  blows!  " 


of  tte  ittibi. 


When  the  Capuchin  heard  this  he  clasped 
his  hands  and  then  crossed  himself.  Margan 
dragged  off  his  habit,  while  some  of  the  other 
Federals  took  the  rags  off  the  three  bailiffs. 
Then  the  monk,  with  a  bailiff  on  each  side  of 
him,  was  clapped  into  the  harness;  the  third 
bailiff  was  hitched  in  front  of  them  for  a  leader; 
the  drums  struck  up  the  quick-step,  and  off 
we  marched  to 

Que  veut  cette  horde  d'esclaves, 
De  traitres,  de  rois  conjures  ? 

As  for  the  peasant  and  his  wife,  they  stood 
staring  after  us  not  knowing  whether  to  laugh 
or  to  cry. 

Twilight  was  falling  as,  hungry  and  weary 
and  footstore,  we  neared  the  longed-for  little 
town  of  Saulieu.  Since  we  had  left  Vienne, 
six  days  before,  we  had  not  seen  a  single 
woman  with  a  smiling  face;  nor  had  we  heard 
a  friendly  word  nor  received  a  friendly  glance. 
We  had  slept  as  we  could  —  on  the  bare  ground, 
on  the  short  grass  growing  on  the  sloping  road 
side,  even  in  dry  ditches.  Our  only  drink  had 
been  water,  sometimes  from  wells  and  brooks, 
sometimes  from  ditches;  and  our  food  had  been 
bread  and  garlic.  Many  of  us  had  gone  bare- 
foot —  either  to  ease  our  blistered  feet  or  to  save 


of  tl)e  Jttarseiiles  Battalion.  197 


our  precious  shoes.  And  all  of  us  were  worn 
with  marching.  For  five  and  twenty  days, 
marching  steadily,  the  Battalion  had  been  on 
the  road. 

But  at  last  we  were  to  be  welcomed  and 
made  much  of  in  a  friendly  Patriotic  town. 
Yet  even  this  pleasant  promise  had  in  it  for  me 
a  touch  of  bitterness.  As  I  looked  around  me 
and  saw  all  our  men  with  their  bushy  dusty 
beards,  while  my  round  boyish  face  was  as 
smooth  as  an  egg  —  though  I  was  as  dusty  and 
sunburnt  as  any  one  —  I  was  in  despair.  The 
people  in  Saulieu  certainly  would  think  that  I 
was  only  a  little  boy.  To  have  had  a  nice 
thick  dusty  uncombed  black  beard  I  would 
gladly  have  been  as  long  and  thin  and  pock- 
marked as  old  Margan.  Suddenly  I  had  an 
idea.  I  had  gathered  a  capful  of  ripe  black- 
berries while  they  were  harnessing  up  the 
monk  and  the  bailiffs,  and  the  thought  came 
to  me  that  I  might  stain  my  face  to  look  like  a 
beard.  I  put  my  fine  plan  straight  into  prac- 
tice. Taking  the  blackest  and  ripest  berries,  I 
crushed  them  under  my  nose,  on  my  chin,  on 
both  cheeks,  and  smeared  my  face  till  I  made 
an  absurd  fright  of  myself.  Even  Vauclair, 
who  was  the  first  to  catch  sight  of  me,  did 
not  recognise  rne  at  once;  and  soon  all  the 


i98  ®^  fte&s  of  tlje  iflibi. 

men  were  laughing  at  my  childish  foolish- 
ness. 

All  the  people  of  Saulieu  turned  out  to 
meet  us  with  torches  and  drums  and  trumpets, 
hailing  us  with  shouts  of  "Vive  la  Nation!" 
"Down  with  the  tyrant!"  "Vive  les  Mar- 
seillais!" — while  up  in  the  church  towers  the 
bells  were  ringing  the  tocsin  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. The  men  of  the  Patriots'  Club  had 
lighted  a  big  bonfire  which  was  blazing  away 
in  front  of  the  church  of  Saint-Saturnin.  and 
we  almost  had  to  come  to  fisticuffs  to  keep 
them  from  feeding  the  fire  with  the  fat  monk 
and  the  bailiffs. 

The  Saulieu  people  were  good  Patriots. 
From  father  to  son  they  had  handed  down  the 
memory  of  the  old  times  when  their  Pastou- 
rells  were  persecuted  and  tormented  as  our 
Albigenses  had  been.  The  men  of  Saulieu 
never  forgot  all  that  had  been  forced  down 
their  throats  in  the  name  of  the  King  and  for 
the  sake  of  religion.  Bitter  bread  had  they 
eaten  in  the  days  of  their  Pastourells,  and  they 
knew  that  the  hour  of  vengeance  at  last  had 
struck  for  the  downtrodden  and  the  perse- 
cuted ! 

How  good  they  were  to  us  in  Saulieu! 
They  gave  us  all  the  wine  we  could  swallow 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.   199 


and  all  the  good  things  we  could  eat.  We 
had  enough  beef  a  la  daube  to  go  over  our 
ears  !  The  only  drawback  was  that  these  good 
people  talked  in  a  sort  of  half  French  and  half 
patois  that  the  devil  himself  must  have  given 
them. 

And  what  a  joy  it  was  to  see  them  fall  on 
their  knees  when  we  burst  forth  into  "Aux 
armes,  citoyens!"  The  roar  of  the  voices 
mingled  with  the  crackling  of  the  flames  of  the 
big  bonfire.  The  bright  light  flashed  in  our 
faces  and  sent  great  shadows  flying  up  the 
church  front  as  the  men  feeding  the  fire  stooped 
and  rose,  or  as  caps  and  hats  were  waved  in 
the  air  or  brandished  on  pikes  and  guns.  The 
huge  blaze  which  made  the  sky  seem  darker 
and  deeper  and  blacker  looked  like  the  mouth 
of  hell  belching  forth  whirlwinds  of  smoke  and 
flame,  while  flying  sparks  circled  round  and 
round. 

In  the  midst  of  the  rejoicing  Vauclair  seized 
my  hand  and  said  as  he  drew  me  out  of  the 
crowd:  "Come  with  me  to  the  post-house. 
The  coach  may  have  arrived  already.  Lazuli 
and  Clairet  may  be  there  now." 

Off  we  went,  finding  our  way  as  well  as 
we  could  through  the  dark  and  narrow  streets 
of  Saulieu.  It  is  but  a  little  town,  and  'we  soon 


200  ®ije  $Ubs  of  tlje  ittibi. 


reached  the  Paris  highway  ;  and  far  off  in  the 
black  night  we  saw  a  lantern  dangling  over 
the  door  of  what  we  knew  must  be  the  post- 
house.  Presently,  when  we  had  reached  the 
lantern-lit  doorway,  we  crossed  the  big  yards 
and  went  by  the  great  sheds  where  the  carters 
were  coming  and  going,  lantern  in  hand,  load- 
ing or  unloading  their  wagons  or  setting  them 
in  order  for  the  march  of  the  next  day.  We 
passed  in  front  of  the  dark  warm  quiet  stables, 
hearing  the  sound  of  the  horses  and  mules 
munching  their  sweet-smelling  hay  or  crunch- 
ing away  at  their  comforting  oats. 

"See,  look  there!"  cried  Vauclair,  much 
excited  and  quickening  his  pace.  "There  is 
the  Avignon  coach  —  certainly  that  is  it!  I 
should  know  it  anywhere  by  its  high  leathern 
cover  and  green  and  yellow  body  and  red  cur- 
tains—let alone  by  the  sound  of  that  little  dog's 
bark,  the  loubet  up  there  on  top." 

We  hurried  on  into  the  inn  kitchen,  all 
lighted  up  by  a  blaze  of  furze  before  which 
turkeys  and  legs  of  mutton  were  turning  around 
on  the  spit.  The  servants  were  going  and 
coming  with  plates  and  bottles  and  jugs.  No 
one  took  any  notice  of  us,  and  we  went  on 
into  the  big  room  where  all  the  travellers  were 
at  table.  And  then,  before  we  had  seen  her, 


of  tlje  ittarseilUe  Battalion.   201 


Lazuli  flung  herself  on  Vauclair's  neck,  hugging 
and  kissing  him  and  crying:  "My  own  man! 
My  Vauclair!"  —  and  presently  adding:  "At 
last  we've  got  here.  There  is  little  Clairet 
asleep  on  the  bench  in  the  corner.  Wake  him 
up  yourself—  for  three  days  he  has  been  calling 
for  his  father!  " 

Vauclair  was  so  upset  that  he  couldn't  say 
a  word.  He  followed  Lazuli  as  she  made  her 
way  among  the  crowded  tables  ;  and  I  followed 
too  —  unable  to  understand  why  Lazuli  had  not 
even  spoken  to  me,  let  alone  given  me  a  kiss. 

Little  Clairet  was  fast  asleep,  wrapped  up  in 
his  mother's  fringed  shawl.  Lazuli  picked  him 
up,  stood  him  on  his  feet,  and  as  she  shook  him 
gently  said  to  him  :  "  Clairet,  Clairet  my  darling, 
wake  up  —  here  is  your  father!  "  But  the  little 
fellow  was  so  dead  with  sleep  he  could  not 
open  his  eyes  nor  hold  up  his  head.  Vauclair 
took  him  in  his  arms,  and  as  he  kissed  him, 
rubbing  his  cheeks  with  his  rough  beard,  the 
child  began  to  waken.  The  bright  light 
bothered  him,  and  at  first  he  put  his  elbow  up 
over  his  eyes;  but  his  father's  voice  at  last 
roused  him  completely  and  as  he  recognised 
him  he  hugged  him  round  the  neck. 

All  this  time  I  was  waiting  for  my  turn  to 
come;  and  Vauclair,  seeing  me,  said  to  the 


ftebs  of 


little  fellow:  "  Haven't  you  a  kiss  for  Pascalet, 
who  gave  you  his  grapes  ?  Come,  give  him  a 
good  hug."  But  as  Clairet  caught  sight  of  me 
he  threw  himself  back  as  if  I  had  been  the 
devil  with  all  his  horns! 

At  this  Lazuli  gave  a  little  jump,  and  as  she 
clapped  her  hands  and  burst  out  laughing,  she 
exclaimed:  "  Heavens  and  earth!  Is  that  Pas- 
calet? What  has  he  been  doing  to  himself? 
What's  that  black  all  over  his  cheeks  ?  Oh, 
what  a  scarecrow  of  a  black  snout!  " 

And  then  I  remembered  that  I  still  was  all 
stained  with  the  blackberries,  and  feeling  as 
flat  as  a  quoit  I  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  clean  my- 
self. I  plunged  my  face  into  a  bucket  of  water 
and  rubbed  hard  enough  to  take  the  skin 
off,  and  then  ran  back.  This  time  Clairet 
knew  me  and  kissed  me,  and  Lazuli  kissed 
me  too. 

The  Avignon  coachman,  having  fed  his 
horses,  had  come  to  the  next  table  and  gave  us 
a  friendly  look  as  he  began  to  eat  on  both  sides 
of  his  mouth  at  once.  Lazuli  soaked  a  biscuit 
in  wine,  and  while  she  fed  Clairet  with  it  told 
all  that  had  happened  in  Avignon  after  we  left 
and  during  her  journey. 

"You  will  never  guess,"  said  she,  "who  is 
in  the  coach  with  us,  going  to  Paris !  She's  a 


of  tlje  iUarseilUs  Battalion.  203 


nasty  neighbour,  I  can  tell  you,  and  I  haven't 
opened  my  mouth  to  her  the  whole  way." 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Vauclair. 

"Of  all  people  in  the  world,  it's  Lajaca- 
rasse!  She  has  brought  along  her  bag  and  her 
big  knife;  and  on  top  of  the  foulness  that 
comes  of  her  pig-cleaning  she  has  a  breath 
that  fairly  reeks  of  wine.  But  her  nastiness  is 
no  great  matter.  What  touches  my  heart  is 
the  young  girl  she  has  with  her,  I'm  sure 
against  her  will  —  a  child  not  more  than  fifteen 
who  is  as  pretty  and  sweet  and  charming  as 
she  can  be.  I  can  see  the  poor  little  soul 
tremble  and  shiver  with  fear  whenever  La 
Jacarasse  looks  at  her  or  makes  any  sign  to 
her.  Poor  lamb,  what  will  that  woman  do 
with  her!  There  is  something  all  wrong 
about  it." 

"  There  certainly  is  something  wrong  about 
it,"  said  the  coachman,  turning  toward  us  and 
lowering  his  voice.  "Things  are  happening 
now-a-days  that  make  one  shudder.  Did  you 
hear  that  a  few  days  ago  in  Avignon  some 
fishermen  from  the  Porte  de  la  Ligne  found  in 
the  Rhone,  caught  against  the  first  pier  of  the 
bridge  of  Saint-Benezet,  the  body  of  the  young 
Marquis  de  Roberty,  bound  and  disem- 
bowelled ?  Well,  folks  say  that  La  Jacarasse 


fte&0  of  llje  iilibi. 


and  two  or  three  other  wretches  cut  him  open 
and  threw  him  into  the  river.  And  I  happen 
to  know  that  this  very  Marquis  de  Roberty 
was  betrothed  to  the  very  young  lady  who  is 
with  La  Jacarasse  now.  Her  name  has  clean 
gone  out  of  my  head,  though  I  knew  it  when 
we  left  Avignon.  Now  don't  a  two  and  two 
like  that  make  four  ?  I  am  sure  that  the  old 
she  devil  has  another  crime  in  hand,  and  that 
she  will  work  it  against  this  innocent  child. 
It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  poor  girl  is  half  dead 
with  fear  of  what  may  be  going  to  happen  to 
her." 

But  here  the  coachman  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  time  was  passing  and  stopped  short 
in  his  talk. 

"  We  must  be  off  in  less  than  half  an  hour," 
he  said,  and  fell  to  finishing  his  supper — taking 
a  bit  of  bread  and  sopping  up  every  drop  of 
gravy  on  his  plate  and  polishing  it  till  it  looked 
as  clean  as  if  it  had  just  come  out  of  the  dish- 
tub.  Then  he  got  up  clumsily,  balancing  his 
heavy  shoulders  as  is  the  way  with  carters, 
and  went  lumbering  off  to  make  ready  for  the 
starting  of  the  coach. 

"Less  than  half  an  hour  more,"  said  Vau- 
clair.  "Now  listen,  Lazuli,  and  don't  forget 
what  I  tell  you :  As  soon  as  you  get  to  Paris 


of  tlje  Marseilles  Battalion.  205 


go  to  my  old  master  Planchot,  the  joiner.  He 
lives  at  the  end  of  the  Impasse  Guemenee, 
opening  from  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine,  a  little 
way  off  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.  It  is  on  the 
Place  de  la  Bastille  that  you  leave  the  coach. 
When  you  get  to  the  house  you  must  say  to 
Master  Planchot:  'I  am  the  wife  of  Vauclair, 
who  worked  a  year  of  his  time  with  you. 
He  is  coming  up  with  the  Marseilles  Battalion 
to  help  settle  the  affairs  of  the  Revolution,  and 
he  sent  me  on  before  to  hire  the  lodging  that 
he  used  to  have  here  in  your  house.'  You  will 
see  how  pleased  the  master  will  be,  and  how 
gladly  he  will  rent  you  my  old  lodging  —  with 
its  little  kitchen  and  all.  There  you  will  be 
safe  and  quiet;  and  if  any  bad  luck  comes  to 
me  or  to  Pascalet,  we  will  be  much  better  off 
there  than  on  a  bed  in  a  barracks  or  in  a  hos- 
pital. But  the  first  thing  of  all  is  that  you 
don't  forget  the  name  of  the  street  where 
Planchot  lives  —  Impasse  Guemenee.  Say  it 
over  after  me,  Impasse  Guemenee.  " 

"Guemenee,  Impasse  Guemenee.  All  right, 
I  won't  forget  it,"  Lazuli  answered;  and  laughed 
as  she  added:  "How  one  has  to  bring  one's 
lips  to  a  point  to  talk  like  those  Paris  don- 
keys!" 

"And  now  another  thing,"  said  Vauclair. 


206  (Elje  Hebs  of  tl]e  JttiM. 

"Did  you  get  some  silver  money  before  leav- 
ing Avignon  ?" 

"Don't  worry — I  sold  my  little  trinkets 
and  my  carved  ivory  crucifix  to  Nathan  the 
Jew,  and  that  made  me  all  right."  As  she 
spoke,  Lazuli  took  Vauclair's  hand  and  put 
it  under  her  shawl,  at  the  same  time  add- 
ing in  a  low  voice:  "There,  feel  how  I  have 
sewed  my  yellow  and  white  money  in  the  lin- 
ing of  my  waist.  The  coachman  swore  to  us 
that  he  had  paid  toll  to  all  the  bands  that 
haunt  the  road  to  Paris — still,  one  never  knows 
what  may  happen  and  it's  well  to  be  on  the 
safe  side." 

"You're  a  treasure  of  a  woman!"  cried 
Vauclair,  as  he  bent  forward  and  kissed  her. 
Almost  in  the  same  moment  he  turned  round 
suddenly  saying :  ' '  What's  that  I  hear  ?  There 
are  our  drums  beating  the  recall;  and  the 
alarm-bells  ringing,  too.  Something  has  hap- 
pened. Quick,  Pascalet,  take  your  gun.  Good- 
bye, Lazuli — a  safe  trip  to  you.  Clairet,  my 
dear  little  Clairet,  good-bye."  Vauclair  took 
up  the  child  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him,  while 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  And  I,  clumsily 
loaded  down  with  my  sword  and  gun  and 
bundle,  also  kissed  Clairet  and  Lazuli  and  said 
good-bye. 


0f  tl)e  ,£HarseiUe0  Battalion.  207 


By  this  time  the  drums  were  beating  furi- 
ously and  the  bells  were  ringing  louder  and 
louder.  One  more  kiss  and  a  last  word. 
"Lazuli,  remember,  when  you  get  to  Paris  go 
straight  to  old  Planchot's.  Impasse  Guemenee, 
you  hear  ?  "  As  we  pushed  forward  to  the 
door  we  heard  behind  us,  back  in  the  depths 
of  the  inn,  the  harsh  rough  voice  of  La  Jaca- 
rasse  calling  out  to  the  serving-  woman  :  '  '  Here, 
bring  me  another  jug  of  wine!"  And  then 
the  serving-woman  passed  us,  muttering  : 
"  Dirty  pig,  I  wish  it  might  choke  you!  " 

In  a  moment  more  we  were  in  the  street, 
running  through  the  dark  night  to  join  the  Bat- 
talion and  to  find  out  what  had  caused  the 
alarm.  We  ran  through  streets  and  open 
spaces  without  meeting  a  living  soul;  hearing 
now  and  then  a  shutter  pulled  in  and  barred, 
or  a  key  turned  in  the  lock,  or  a  bolt  pushed 
fast  by  timid  folk  who  were  shutting  them- 
selves up  in  their  houses. 

The  smoke  from  the  dying  bonfire  and  the 
shouting  and  singing  of  the  crowd  guided  us 
on  our  way  through  the  crooked  streets; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  we  came  out  all  right 
on  the  big  open  space  in  front  of  the  church. 
There  we  found  our  men  all  in  line,  with  guns 
shouldered  and  bayonets  mounted  ready  to 
15 


of 


start.  In  front  of  the  Battalion  was  a  man  on 
horseback,  at  whom  I  stared  with  all  my 
might  to  try  and  make  out  who  he  was  — 
with  his  cocked  hat  and  with  his  gilt  but- 
tons which  sparkled  in  the  faint  rays  coming 
from  the  few  embers  left  of  the  great  brush 
fire.  Just  then  the  drummers  who  had  been 
drumming  the  recall  through  all  the  streets 
came  back,  making  a  most  tremendous  racket. 
The  Battalion  burst  forth  into  the  "Marseil- 
laise." The  crowd  clapped  hands,  shouted, 
screamed,  sang  and  howled,  while  the  bells 
kept  on  madly  pealing  the  tocsin.  Never  can 
I  forget  the  roar  that  in  that  sombre  night  rose 
from  the  throats  of  thousands  of  men.  Over- 
topping the  roaring  crowd,  like  a  black  statue 
sharply  defined  against  the  starry  sky,  was  the 
silent  motionless  man  on  horseback. 

Suddenly  the  horse  stamped,  striking  out 
sparks  from  the  paving  stones.  The  horseman, 
raising  his  arm,  motioned  to  the  crowd  to  keep 
silence.  As  if  by  enchantment,  the  cries,  the 
songs  stopped,  the  drums  ceased  beating,  the 
bells  rang  no  more,  and  there  was  utter  and  sol- 
emn silence.  Then  the  man  on  horseback  spoke 
to  us:  "My  brave  men  of  Marseilles,  I  have 
ridden  full  speed  from  Paris  to  tell  you  what 
is  being  said  and  planned  there.  The  Anti- 


of  tl)e  Marseilles  Battalion.  209 


Patriots,  the  Counter-Revolutionists,  the  Aris- 
tocrats, all  slaves  of  the  King,  have  reported 
everywhere  that  you  are  brigands,  that  you 
have  escaped  from  the  galleys  at  Toulon,  that 
you  are  the  scrapings  of  the  port  of  Marseilles, 
that  you  are  Corsican  bandits!  They  say  that 
you  have  pillaged,  burned,  pulled  down,  mur- 
dered, and  torn  open  all  on  your  way  hither. 
They  even  say  that  you  crucified  an  old  Canon 
at  the  door  of  the  club  in  Avignon,  and  that 
you  killed  and  quartered  the  Bishop  of  Mende- 
at  the  bridge  of  Saint-Jean  d'Ardieres  —  and 
who  knows  how  much  more  they've  said  of 
this  same  sort!  King  Capet  —  the  tyrant  who 
has  made  a  covenant  with  foreigners  to  invade 
France  and  massacre  all  French  Patriots  —  wants 
to  keep  you  from  coming  to  Paris  :  so  that  he 
can  the  more  easily  bring  his  Germans  and 
Austrians  into  France.  The  King  plotted  this 
black  treason  with  the  generals  of  the  Emperor. 
If  we  had  not  caught  and  stopped  him  at 
Varennes  the  unnatural  traitor  would  now  be 
at  the  head  of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
foreigners  :  thirty  thousand  Austrians  from  the 
North,  fifteen  thousand  Germans  to  come  by 
way  of  Alsace,  fifteen  thousand  Italians  to  come 
through  Dauphiny,  twenty-five  thousand  Span- 
iards to  come  across  the  Pyrenees,  and  as  many 


210  ®l)e  ttebs  of  tlje  Xttibi. 

Swiss  to  invade  us  through  Burgundy.  This 
swarm  of  stranger  enemies  was  to  be  spread 
like  a  pest  over  all  our  France  of  the  Revolu- 
tion; and,  led  by  the  tyrant  himself  and  by  the 
emigre  nobility,  it  was  to  have  given  back  full 
power  to  the  King.  And  then — woe  to  the 
Poor!  Good-bye  to  Liberty!  Farewell  to  the 
Rights  of  Man! 

"  This  same  King  Capet  says  that  you  shall 
not  go  to  Paris;  that  he  will  bar  the  way. 
King  Capet  says  you  shall  go  to  Soissons. 
King  Capet  in  his  foolhardiness  does  not  under- 
stand that  we  men  of  the  South  fear  nor  pow- 
der nor  fire  nor  steel!  He  does  not  know  that, 
backed  by  the  wrath  of  all  Southern  France, 
you  come  to  abolish  the  throne,  to  smite  into 
pieces  the  crown,  to  take  vengeance  for  the 
past!  King  Capet  says  you  shall  go  to  Sois- 
sons. Has  King  Capet  forgotten  that  there  in 
Soissons  is  the  famous  axe  with  which  his  an- 
cestor Clovis  cowardly  murdered  his  poor  sol- 
dier? You,  who  are  the  strong  arm  of  God, 
will  lift  up  that  same  axe  and  with  it  you  will 
cleave  Capet's  head  from  his  shoulders!  Up, 
men  of  Marseilles!  Up,  Patriots!  Rise  up  for 
Death  or  Liberty! " 

So  saying,  the  man  swung  his  horse  around 
and  cried  out  to  us  as  he  galloped  off  into  the 


ittarcl)  of  tl)e  Jttarseillee  Battalion.  211 

darkness:  "  I  go  before  to  tell  to  the  men  of 
the  Revolution  and  to  the  Patriot  Barbaroux 
that  the  Marseilles  Battalion  is  advancing  at  a 
forced  march  on  Paris.  Vive  la  Nation !  " 

"  Vive  Rebecqui!  Vive  Barbaroux!  Vive 
la  Nation!  Down  with  the  tyrant!  "  answered 
we  in  one  formidable  shout  as  the  horseman 
vanished  into  the  night  on  his  way  to  Paris. 

Commandant  Moisson  flashed  his  sabre  and 
cried  to  us:  "Boys,  the  Marseilles  Battalion 
starts  now  and  rests  no  more.  There  is  nor 
stop  nor  pause  for  us  until  we  camp  on  the 
threshold  of  King  Capet's  Castle !  " 

The  Battalion  answered  him  by  bursting 
out  into  "Allons  enfants  de  la  Patrie!"  The 
drums  beat  the  quick-step;  and  off  we 
marched,  with  the  strength  of  God's  thunder 
in  our  bones.  We  were  as  vigorous  and  as 
strong  as  the  day  we  had  started  on  the  Paris 
road. 

Out  of  the  way,  you  weak  blooded  monk! 
Scat!  you  sick  silkworms  of  bailiffs!  We  want 
no  more  of  your  help.  And  again  we  har- 
nessed ourselves  to  our  cannon  and,  sweating 
and  singing,  went  joyously  on  our  way. 

I  kept  wondering  who  was  this  man  Re- 
becqui, this  man  on  horseback  who  had  spoken 
so  well.  Rebecqui,  Rebecqui,  who  was  he  ? 


ftebs  of  tl)e  XUibi. 


Everybody  said  that  he  was  from  Paris,  but  if 
so  then  the-  Paris  people  spoke  as  they  did  in 
Avignon.  He  must  be  such  another,  I  decided, 
as  that  Barbaroux  who  was  waiting  for  us  up 
in  Paris;  Barbaroux  whom  every  one  idolized, 
Barbaroux  who  was  to  save  the  Revolution. 
And  so,  thinking  no  more  about  him,  I  took 
up  our  chorus:  "  Aux  armes,  citoyens!  " 

The  good  red  wine  we  had  drunk,  the 
tocsin  that  we  still  could  hear  off  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  above  all  the  fiery  words  of  that 
Rebecqui,  had  put  new  life  into  us.  Never 
had  we  marched  more  steadily,  never  had  we 
felt  less  weariness  or  more  go.  When  we 
were  not  singing  the  "Marseillaise"  we  were 
shouting  "Down  with  the  tyrant!  We'll  get 
into  Paris.  We'll  get  into  his  Castle.  He 
doesn't  want  us  there,  but  he'll  have  to  have 
us!  "  And  then  we  would  close  up  our  ranks 
and  burst  out  again  with:  "  Amour  sacre  de  la 
Patrie!" 

At  daybreak,  still  singing,  we  marched 
through  a  big  town  —  I  don't  remember  its 
name  —  where  we  had  been  told  that  King 
Capet  with  his  army  and  the  people  around 
were  to  bar  our  way.  But  not  a  soul  was 
stirring  —  no  one  was  in  the  streets.  We  made 
the  houses  shake  as  we  marched  through. 


of  tlje  Marseilles  Battalion.  213 


Samat  unfurled  the  banner  of  The  Rights  of 
Man,  but  he  couldn't  find  any  one  to  kiss  it  — 
until  he  caught  sight  of  an  early  beadle  who 
was  opening  the  doors  of  a  church.  He  dashed 
upon  the  bewildered  beadle,  and  when  he  had 
made  him  kiss  the  banner  he  burst  into  the 
church  like  a  whirlwind  and  marched-  around 
it  holding  up  his  banner  to  be  kissed  by  all  the 
saints  of  wood  and  stone;  and  when  this  mat- 
ter had  been  settled  to  his  satisfaction  he  came 
running  up  to  us,  all  out  of  breath  to  take  again 
his  place  in  the  ranks. 

When  the  sun  had  sucked  up  the  mists  so 
that  his  sharp  rays  stung  our  necks  like  needles, 
we  halted  on  the  banks  of  a  stream  and  ate 
our  pittance  of  dry  bread  and  garlic.  But  our 
halt  was  short.  We  were  charged  with  God's 
thunder  —  and  the  thought  of  our  high  duty 
urged  us  on.  Some  of  the  men  began  to  drag 
behind,  limping  on  bleeding  feet;  but  they 
struggled  along  bravely  and  would  not  give  in. 
To  drown  the  murmurs  of  pain,  which  even 
the  best  of  them  could  not  wholly  stifle,  we 
sang  the  "  Marseillaise." 

This  terrible  forced  march  lasted  altogether 
for  seven  days  and  seven  nights.  As  we 
marched  we  ate  our  everlasting  garlic  and 
bread,  the  bread  often  mouldy,  and  all  we  had 


214  ®l)e  ttebs  of  tl)e  fftibi. 

to  drink  was  water  from  ponds  or  way-side 
ditches.  Footsore,  hungry,  weary — still  we 
toiled  on. 

Yet  we  had  a  laugh  now  and  then — as 
when  we  passed  through  a  town  absurdly 
named  Melun,  and  made  our  joke  about  it  by 
baptizing  it  Water-melon.  It  was  a  little  town, 
packed  full  of  Aristocrats.  When  its  Mayor 
refused  to  let  us  have  any  bread  we  grinned  on 
him  with  our  famished  white  teeth — and  then 
he  changed  his  mind  in  a  jiffy  and  promised 
us  two  loaves  apiece!  While  we  waited  for  it 
we  camped  outside  the  city  gates  for  three 
hours,  and  when  it  came  we  danced  around 
the  baskets  in  a  big  circle  to  the  tune  of  "La 
Carmagnole."  After  the  bread  was  divided 
Commandant  Moisson  said  to  us:  "Boys,  this 
is  the  last  time  you  will  have  to  chew  on  coun- 
try bread — may  ft  set  light  on  your  stomachs. 
In  two  days  or  less  you  will  taste  the  bread  of 
Paris — and  you  will  take  the  taste  for  bread  out 
of  the  tyrant's  mouth!  " 

What  the  Commandant  promised  came  to 
pass.  The  next  day  we  marched  through  such 
a  forest  of  oaks  and  ash  and  beech  that  it 
seemed  to  me  I  was  back  again  on  Mont  Ven- 
tour.  The  wood  was  so  shady,  the  turf  so 
thick  and  soft,  that  we  made  a  halt;  and  as  we 


0f  tl)*  ittarseilies  Battalion.  215 


were  resting,  some  of  us  seated  on  fallen 
branches,  some  leaning  back  against  the  trees, 
some  stretched  out  at  full  length  on  the  soft 
grass,  we  were  puzzled  by  hearing  a  queer 
noise  —  a  dull  humming  roar,  or  buzzing  mur- 
mur. Each  of  us  in  turn  made  a  guess  as  to 
what  it  was.  "  It's  bees  swarming,"  said  one, 
and  we  stared  up  into  the  branches  to  see 
them.  "I  should  say  an  earthquake,"  said 
another,  "  only  earthquakes  don't  last  so  long." 
"The  sound  seems  to  come  from  under- 
ground," said  a  third;  ''and  yet  it  almost 
sounds  like  far  off  talking,  or  the  firing  of  can- 
non very  far  away." 

"As  for  me,"  said  long  Samat,  "I  think 
there  is  a  spring  near  here  that  rushes  between 
rocks,  like  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse." 

"  If  we  weren't  so  far  from  Marseilles,"  put 
in  Margan,  "I  should  say  it  was  the  noise  of 
the  sea  beating  against  the  rocks  of  our  good 
mother,  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde." 

"If  only  it  isn't  an  army  of  Aristocrats  who 
are  coming  to  bar  the  way,'"  said  Sergeant 
Peloux,  frowning  as  he  spoke. 

The  Commandant,  smiling  to  himself,  lis- 
tened to  all  our  guesses  and  then  said:  "Well 
now,  if  I  didn't  know  you  came  from  Mar- 
seilles I  should  say  you  were  from  Martigues  — 


216  QLtye  IUb0  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


that  town  where  the  people  gulp  down  every 
fool-story  that  is  told!  That  noise  which 
puzzles  you  so  is  neither  swarm,  nor  earth- 
quake, nor  waterfall,  nor  breakers  on  the  rocks, 
nor  is  it  the  roar  of  an  army  ;  good  comrades, 
it  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  voice  of 
that  great  Paris  we  come  to  see!  It  is  the 
sound  of  hammers  on  anvils,  of  the  rumbling 
of  carriages  in  the  streets,  of  the  hum  of  the 
market  place;  it  is  the  voice  of  the  people,  the 
sobs,  the  laughter,  the  angry  cries,  the  joyous 
shouts,  of  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  souls  in  the  Capital!  In  it  are  blended 
the  clarion  notes  of  Liberty,  the  frank  voice  of 
Equality,  the  sweet  tones  of  Fraternity;  and 
also,  alas  !  the  threatening  lying  voices  of  selfish- 
ness, of  despotism,  of  hypocrisy  and  of  tyranny. 
Friends,  it  is  said  that  that  dull  roar  of  Paris, 
that  jumble  of  songs  and  cries  and  sobs  and 
laughter,  can  be  heard  five  leagues  away  from 
that  great  city!  " 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  the  Com- 
mandant's mouth  than  we  were  on  our  feet, 
our  guns  shouldered  and  our  kits  fast  on  our 
backs.  We  sang,  we  shouted!  Could  it  be 
that  we  were  so  near  to  Paris  !  Vive  la  Revo- 
lution! Vive  Marseilles!  Vive  Toulon!  Vive 
Avignon  !  —  and  we  tore  branches  from  the  oaks 


of  Ifye  Marseilles  Battalion.  217 


and  the  beeches  with  which  we  dressed  our 
guns  and  our  red  caps  and  the  gun  carriages, 
and  we  danced  a  round  to  the  tune  of  the 
"Carmagnole."  The  drums,  instead  of  beat- 
ing the  everlasting  quick-step,  set  up  a  buzz- 
ing like  the  tambourins  on  the  Saints'  days  in 
our  villages  ;  and  off  we  capered  in  a  farandole 
—leaping,  jumping,  swaying,  cutting  pigeon- 
wings,  hugging,  crying,  and  all  the  while  shout- 
ing Paris  !  Paris  !  Paris  —  at  last  ! 

We  went  on  in  this  crazy  fashion  for  a  good 
half  hour  before  we  quieted  down  and  got  into 
rank  once  more;  and  then  we  marched  gaily 
out  of  the  shady  forest  with  never  a  thought  ot 
our  past  hunger  and  thirst  and  weariness  and 
pain.  As  we  came  from  under  the  trees  the 
Commandant,  pointing  with  his  sword, 
showed  us  far  away  on  the  edge  of  the  green 
plain  a  grey  line  that  took  up  the  whole  hori- 
zon and  was  broken  by  towers  and  spires  and 
had  floating  over  it  a  little  bluish  cloud. 

"There  is  Paris!"  said  he. 

The  whole  Battalion,  as  if  the  order  to  halt 
had  been  given,  stopped  short.  We  stood 
silent,  staring  at  the  horizon.  Something 
gripped  fast  at  our  throats  and  would  not  let 
us  sing  the  "Marseillaise."  Our  eyes  were 
blinded  with  a  rush  of  tears.  The  Com  man- 


ai8  ijtje  ftete  of  tlje  ittibi. 

dant  made  a  sign  to  the  drums  and  off  they 
rattled  the  quick-step;  and  as  if  their  rattle 
had  given  us  back  our  voices  we  burst  out  all 
together  with 

Aliens  enfants  de  la  Patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! 

Wild,  stern,  fierce,  we  ran  rather  than 
marched.  The  carriage  of  an  Aristocrat  was 
driving  toward  us,  but  when  the  coachman 
caught  sight  of  us  he  was  so  frightened  that 
he  turned  tail  and  whipped  back  to  Paris  at 
full  speed. 

By  sundown  we  were  come  fairly  within 
one  of  the  outlying  suburbs,  on  the  borders  of 
a  stream  of  which  I  forget  the  name;  and  there, 
suddenly,  we  saw  a  lot  of  people  coming  to 
meet  us  shouting  and  waving  their  arms. 

"Vive  les  Marseillais !  "  they  cried. 

"  Vive  les  Patriotes!"  we  answered — and 
in  a  moment  we  had  broken  ranks  and  flung 
ourselves  into  the  arms  of  the  crowd.  I  can 
tell  you  there  was  hugging  and  kissing!  And 
as  fast  as  the  hugging  was  over,  it  all  began 
again.  Kissing  and  crying  like  women,  these 
friends  who  had  come  to  welcome  us  told  their 
names — Barbaroux,  Rebecqui,  Danton,  San- 
terre. 


iHarcl)  of  tl)e  ittatsnllee  Sattolion.  219 

Barbaroux,  the  famous  Barbaroux,  the  Dep- 
uty from  Marseilles,  who  with  his  sweet  voice 
could  fairly  beguile  the  soul  out  of  you,  hugged 
our  officers  all  round  and  said :  "To-morrow  at 
daybreak  you  shall  enter  Paris  and  go  right  to 
the  tyrant  to  bring  him  to  reason.  Here  is  San- 
terre,  the  Commandant  of  the  Garde  Nationale, 
who  has  promised  to  meet  us  with  forty  thou- 
sand men,  all  ready  to  cry  with  us :  '  Liberty 
or  Death!'" 

At  this,  every  one  shouted  "Vive  Barba- 
roux," and  a  few  in  the  crowd  shouted  also 
"Vive  Santerre!'  But  a  good  many  of  us 
didn't  like  the  looks  of  this  Santerre  the 
brewer.  He  spoke  in  French  fashion  through 
his  nose,  for  such  is  the  pretty  way  of  the  peo- 
ple up  there  in  the  North.  Then  he  did  not 
let  out  his  feelings  as  Barbaroux  and  Rebecqui 
and  Danton  had  done;  nor  did  he  even  shake 
any  one's  hand.  He  seemed  a  sort  of  imitation 
fine  gentleman,  who  put  on  gentle  airs  and 
who  sneered  at  our  huggings  and  dancings  and 
singing  of  "  La  Carmagnole." 

All  this  time  we  of  the  rank  and  file  were 
making  friends  with  the  good  people  of  the 
suburb,  Patriots  all.  They  mingled  with  the 
Battalion  and  the  women  and  children  kissed 
our  hands.  They  wanted  us  to  sup  and  bed 


220  ®|)e  Ueb0  of  tl)e  XttiM. 

at  their  homes — fairly  fighting  to  have  us,  and 
not  being  contented  unless  they  had  two  or 
three  of  us  apiece.  I  went  off  with  Margan  the 
chatterer  to  sup  and  sleep  at  the  house  of  a  fine 
fellow  of  a  gardener.  And  what  a  feast  he 
gave  us!  Because  we  came  from  the  South, 
he  gathered  from  his  hotbeds  the  very  first  of 
his  tomatoes  and  young  egg-plants — that  he 
might  have  sold  for  almost  their  weight  in 
gold  in  the  Paris  markets — and  with  them 
made  for  us  a  paradise  of  a  fricassee!  I  can 
tell  you  our  jaws  wagged  over  it  after  our 
weeks  and  weeks  of  munching  only  dry  bread 
and  garlic  and  drinking  ditch  water!  And  then 
we  slept  in  a  real  bed  with  our  shoes  off  and 
our  legs  bare. 

Name  of  a  name,  what  a  short  night  it  was! 
At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  long  before  the 
first  ray  of  dawn,  the  drums  beat,  the  shutters 
flew  open,  the  doors  were  unbarred,  and  the 
Federals  poured  out  from  everywhere,  their 
kits  on  their  backs  and  their  guns  on  their 
shoulders  ready  to  march.  As  for  me,  down 
in  my  pocket  I  found  two  well  dried  black- 
berries with  which  I  yet  managed  to  make  my- 
self a  famous  pair  of  moustachios — that  I  might 
go  into  Paris  looking  like  a  man. 

Something,   I  don't  know  what,  kept  us 


of  tl)*  4ttarseiUe0  Battalion.   221 


from  starting;  and  for  all  our  early  rising  we  did 
not  get  off  until  the  sun  was  tipping  the  poplars 
with  fire  and  the  little  birds  were  beginning  to 
twitter  as  they  waked  up  in  the  trees.  But 
this  time  we  started  for  Paris  itself!  Barbaroux, 
Danton,  Rebecqui,  with  some  other  deputies  to 
the  National  Assembly,  headed  the  column; 
then  came  the  drums  beating  the  quick-step; 
then  the  two  cannon  and  the  forge,  to  which 
last  1  was  harnessed  ;  then  the  Battalion,  with 
well  sharpened  swords  and  with  guns  loaded 
and  primed  ready  to  fire  off!  Big  Samat  dis- 
played his  banner  of  The  Rights  of  Man,  and 
the  whole  Battalion  struck  up:  "  Allons  enfants 
de  la  Patrie!"  Oh,  Holy  Liberty!  had  we  but 
met  the  tyrant  in  his  carriage  with  all  his 
guards  we  would  have  made  but  a  mouthful 
of  them  and  him  that  day! 

Soon  we  began  to  see  the  first  houses  of 
the  Capital  —  and  what  enormous  houses  they 
were  !  The  very  lowest  was  higher  than  the 
spire  of  our  church,  so  that  to  look  at  the  eaves 
you  had  to  put  your  neck  out  of  joint.  As  we 
drew  closer  to  the  city  its  people  came  out  to 
meet  us  —  headed  by  a  skirmish  line  of  children 
who  capered  around  us  and  shouted  and  danced 
and  sang.  There  were  workmen,  shopkeepers, 
soldiers,  and  women  of  the  people  with  woollen 


222  fEtye  Bebs  0f  ll)e  ittibi. 

cockades  in  their  caps  showing  the  national 
colours  of  blue  and  white  and  red.  And  they 
all  were  clapping  their  hands  and  shouting 
"Vive  les  Marseillais! "  Presently  they  got 
into  line  along  the  road  side  so  as  to  let  us 
pass,  and  waved  their  arms  to  us  in  sign  of 
welcome.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  they  were 
good  Patriots.  But  as  we  went  farther  into 
the  town,  between  the  big  stone  houses  with 
their  balconies  and  their  beautiful  doors,  the 
look  of  the  crowd  began  to  change.  We  met 
carriages  coming  and  going,  with  their  silk- 
stockinged  valets  perched  up  before  and  be- 
hind. In  them  we  caught  glimpses  of  stiff 
Aristocratical  mugs,  all  frizzed  and  perfumed. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  these  long  Samat  ran  up  to 
them  and,  willy-nilly,  made  them  kiss  his 
banner.  In  the  crowd,  that  was  crushed  up 
against  the  wall  in  order  to  give  us  passage 
way,  we  saw,  too,  many  sedan-chairs  all  gilded 
like  an  altar  and  lined  with  silk.  Two  very 
serious-looking  men,  in  cocked-hats  and  em- 
broidered coats,  carried  each  of  them — one 
man  before  and  one  behind.  Sometimes  a 
beautiful  powdered  lady  all  lace  and  ribbons 
would  be  in  the  chair,  sometimes  a  marquis — 
dry  as  a  stock-fish  or  as  fat  as  an  urn — in  a  coat 
of  velvet  with  buttons  of  gold.  But  woe  be- 


of  tl)e  ittarseilks  Battalion.  223 


tide  if  footman  or  lady  or  marquis  did  not  wear 
the  tricolour  woollen  cockade.  In  a  flash  a 
Federal  would  go  up  to  them  and  snatch  away 
the  cockade  of  silk  ribbon  and  stick  in  its  place 
the  woollen  tricolour  that  some  woman  or  man 
of  the  people  would  give  from  off  their  own 
clothes.  All  this  was  done  instantly,  in  pass- 
ing,. in  the  push  and  rush  and  stir  of  the 
march. 

A  great  crowd  followed  us;  drawn  on 
partly  by  the  steady  roll  of  the  drums  as  they 
beat  our  marching-step,  but  more  strongly  by 
the  terrible  chant  of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  —  which 
all  the  five  hundred  men  of  the  Battalion  sang 
in  one  tremendous  voice  loud  enough  to  jar  the 
plaster  off  the  walls.  Soon  the  crowd  caught 
tne  words  of  the  chorus  and  sang  with  us  — 
and  then  it  no  longer  was  five  hundred,  but  a 
thousand,  ten  thousand,  twenty  thousand, 
singers  singing  with  one  voice!  That  awful 
roar  of  "Our  soil's  athirst  for  traitor  blood  !" 
brought  hot  tears  to  every  Patriot's  eyes  and 
sent  a  glowing  thrill  through  every  Patriot's 
breast.  And  all  those  arms  flourishing  in  the 
air  together,  all  those  starting  eyes  sending 
forth  the  same  gleam,  all  those  thousands  of 
open  jaws  uttering  the  same  cry,  were  enough 
to  drive  one  wild! 

16 


224  ®b*  &*&0  of  ll)e  HUM. 


Bending  forward,  stooping  almost  on  all 
fours,  1  dragged  at  my  cannon  and  sang  as  if  I 
would  tear  my  throat  open.  From  time  to  time 
I  would  raise  myself  and  look  back  to  see  the 
overwhelming,  howling,  terrible  flood  of  peo- 
ple pouring  on  close  behind  us.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  houses,  the  trees,  the  very  street  with  its 
paving-stones,  were  following  us.  It  seemed 
as  if  a  great  mountain  were  galloping  after  us 
and  was  near  upon  us  with  its  peaks  and  val- 
leys and  forests  shaken  and  riven  by  the  ava- 
lanche, the  tempest,  the  earthquake  of  God! 

The  torrent  burst  into  the  Place  de  la  Bas- 
tille, already  crammed  with  a  crowd  into  which 
the  Battalion  slowly  bored  its  way.  On  each 
side  of  us  and  in  front  of  us  was  a  tremendous 
crush  as  men  and  women  were  pressed  to- 
gether like  grain  on  the  threshing-floor;  and  as 
they  closed  in  behind  us  there  was  a  surging 
eddy  in  our  wake.  The  ruins  of  the  Bastille 
were  covered  with  people  screaming,  shout- 
ing, clapping,  waving  their  arms.  The  broken 
walls,  the  heaps  of  stone  and  plaster,  the  riven 
beams,  the  roofless  turrets,  the  windows  wide 
open  to  the  four  winds  of  Liberty  —  all  bore 
their  loads  of  sightseers  so  close  packed  that 
their  heads  came  together  like  a  bunch  of 
grapes. 


of  the  Marseilles  Battalion.  225 


I  dragged  away  at  my  harness  and,  be- 
wildered, glanced  aside  at  the  mountains  of 
people  roaring  and  flourishing  their  greetings 
to  us;  until,  by  a  lucky  turn  of  my  eyes,  I 
caught  sight  of  Lazuli  up  on  a  wall  with  Clairet 
on  her  shoulder,  laughing  and  crying  with  de- 
light and  shouting:  "  Vive  les  Marseillais!  " 

But  it  was  not  the  sight  of  Lazuli  that  all  in 
a  moment  made  my  voice  grow  husky,  my 
blood  stop  running,  my  legs  that  had  carried 
me  so  far  give  way  under  me,  and  my  eyelids 
tremble  with  blinding  tears  :  it  was  that  I  saw 
beside  Lazuli,  holding  her  hand  and  clinging 
to  her  as  though  for  shelter,  a  pale  young  girl 
lovely  as  the  Virgin  —  and  knew  her  to  be  Ade- 
line, Mademoiselle  Adeline  of  the  Chateau  de 
la  Garde,  the  angel  who  had  saved  my  life  ! 

Old  Pascal's  voice  broke,  and  for  a  moment 
he  could  not  go  on.  And  in  that  very  instant 
bang!  bang!  bang!  came  three  blows  on  the 
shutter,  and  we  heard  outside  the  voice  of 
Lange,  Pascal's  brother,  calling:  "Come,  come. 
Are  you  going  to  spend  the  night  here  ?  You 
have  made  me  get  up  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  to  look  for  you.  Come  right  away 
home!" 

Two  o'clock  in  the  morning!    Who  would 


226  ®|)e  Ucbs  of  tl)e  HUM. 


have  believed  it  ?  We  all  were  on  our  legs  in 
a  moment;  and  the  next  moment  we  all  were 
out  in  the  darkness  and  scurrying  off  on  our 
various  ways  through  the  blackness  of  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN   THE  STRANGE   NEW   TIMES. 

IT  was  very  clear  that  after  my  sitting  up 
till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  would  be 
a  desperate  sleepy-head  all  the  next  day. 
My  dear  grandfather,  I  am  sure,  puzzled  his 
brains  through  a  good  part  of  his  own  short 
night  to  find  some  way  by  which  I  could  be 
kept  awake  during  the  next  evening,  and  so 
not  miss  old  Pascal's  story — which  he  himself 
enjoyed  as  much  as  I  did  and  would  not  have 
missed  for  the  world.  And  the  good  old  man 
did  find  a  way  that  worked  very  well  indeed. 

Usually  he  was  off  at  daybreak,  with  his 
hoe  and  his  wallet,  to  his  vine-yard  or  saffron- 
field.  But  that  morning  he  pottered  about  the 
house  until  after  ten  o'clock.  And  then,  as  if 
he  were  asking  a  favour,  he  said  to  my  mother: 
"I'd  like  to  take  our  boy  out  with  me  this 
morning.  A  piece  of  my  wall  fell  down  in  the 
last  rains  and  must  be  set  up  again.  I  want 

227 


228  $t)e  ftebs  of  tl)e  HUM. 

somebody  to  hand  me  the  stones.  Then  I  can 
get  along  faster  and  finish  it  to-day." 

"Well,"  said  my  mother,  "he  went  to 
sleep  again  after  I  called  him  and  so  has  missed 
his  school,  and  I  suppose  he  might  as  well  go 
along  with  you  and  work  like  a  man." 

And  so  off  I  went  for  the  day  with  my 
grandfather.  But  I  did  not  hand  him  any 
stones — oh,  no!  Before  he  set  hand  to  the 
broken  wall  he  hunted  out  a  sheltered  corner 
where  the  sun  shone  warmly,  and  there  he 
made  me  a  soft  bed  of  dry  leaves  on  which 
he  laid  me;  and  on  which  I  slept  like  a  saint 
the  whole  day  long. 

When  evening  came  I  was  as  bright  as  a 
button,  and  so  hungry  that  I  ate  supper  enough 
for  two.  But  hardly  had  my  grandfather  made 
an  end  to  his  own  eating,  by  pushing  away 
his  plate  and  snapping  his  knife  together,  than 
I  was  up  and  had  lighted  the  lantern  and  was 
tugging  at  him  to  hurry  him  away.  Off  we 
went,  a  pair  of  children  together;  and  we  had 
no  more  than  taken  our  seats  in  the  shoemak- 
er's shop  than  Pascal  began. 

As  I  was  saying,  up  there  on  the  ruins  of 
the  Bastille,  I  caught  sight  of  Lazuli  with  little 
Clairet  on  her  shoulder,  and  Mademoiselle 


Sn  tlje  Strange  Nea  €imes.         229 

Adeline  close  beside  her  holding  fast  to  her  arm 
as  though  in  dread  that  some  one  might  try  to 
snatch  her  away.  I  tried  to  stop  to  make  sure 
that  my  eyes  were  not  playing  a  trick  on  me. 
But  there  was  no  stopping  then.  I  could  no 
more  stand  against  the  forward  push  of  the 
crowd  than  if  I  had  been  a  fly.  The  cannon 
seemed  to  be  alive — to  be  galloping  on  of  them- 
selves. When  I  half  halted,  to  turn  around,  the 
wheels  of  the  truck  came  on  me  with  a  bounce 
and  I  had  to  start  ahead  in  a  hurry.  And  so  on  I 
went  with  the  crowd,  and  the  Bastille  quickly 
was  left  behind.  I  felt  my  heart  sinking.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  grip  it  and  wring  it  until  I 
hardly  could  bear  the  pain.  To  give  myself 
strength  and  courage  again  I  burst  out  with 
the  rest  into  "Aux  armes,  citoyens!"  and  fell 
to  dragging  at  my  harness  like  a  wild  bull. 

Presently  something  seemed  to  be  going 
wrong  ahead  of  us,  in  the  Rue  de  Saint-An- 
toine,  and  we  were  pulled  up  short.  And 
then  we  found  that  the  Garde  Nationale  of 
Paris  was  there,  barring  our  way.  Santerre, 
the  famous  Santerre,  had  met  us  with  a  poor 
two  hundred  men — in  place  of  the  forty  thou- 
sand that  he  had  promised — and,  instead  of 
joining  us,  he  was  trying  to  prove  to  our  Com- 
mandant that  it  would  be  folly  to  attack  the 


230  ®l)c  ftebs  of  t\]t  ittiM. 

King's  Castle;  that  the  time  had  not  yet 
come. 

He  was  full  of  all  sorts  of  excuses,  this 
Santerre,  for  putting  off  -the  attack.  Nothing 
was  ready  for  it;  the  cannon  we  were  to  carry 
off  from  in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  were  too 
strongly  guarded  to  be  taken;  Mayor  Petion 
had  said  that  we  must  wait  until  the  Assembly 
could  come  to  a  vote.  Mayor  Petion  didn't 
think  that  this  was  the  right  time  to  force  the 
King — and  so  on,  with  this,  that  and  the  other, 
until  it  was  enough  to  drive  one  wild. 

But  in  the  end  these  peace-lovers  carried 
the  day  against  us,  and  it  was  settled  that  we 
should  go  along  the  Boulevard  quietly  to  our 
barracks:  and  behold,  then,  Monsieur  Santerre 
with  his  two  hundred  Parisians  at  the  head  of 
the  procession — while  we  Marseillais  marched 
along  behind  him  meek  as  lambs!  As  for  the 
crowd — the  howling,  roaring  crowd  that  had 
followed  us  with  fists  and  teeth  ready  for  fight- 
ing— when  those  in  it  saw  that  there  wasn't  to 
be  any  attack  on  the  Castle  they  dropped  away 
from  us  by  tens  and  twenties :  and  so  left  us 
to  go  through  the  Aristocratic  quarter  alone. 
Then  we  knew  that  Santerre  had  tricked  us. 

As  we  marched  on  we  met  only  gilded  car- 
riages and  silk-curtained  sedan-chairs  in  which 


tl)e  Strange  Nero  <Eime0.         231 


were  fine  court  ladies  in  laces  and  furbelows, 
and  powdered  and  pomatumed  dandies  in  vel- 
vet coats  and  breeches,  with  silver-buckled 
shoes  and  with  knots  of  ribbon  at  wrist  and 
knee  and  wherever  a  knot  of  ribbon  could  be 
stuck  on.  These,  we  could  see,  were  laugh- 
ing and  sneering  at  us;  but  Samat  and  Margan, 
who  were  not  the  sort  to  be  laughed  at  by  any 
such  riff-raff  of  Aristocrats,  stopped  the  coaches 
in  a  hurry  and  made  the  frightened  porters  put 
down  the  sedan-chairs — and  then  all  those 
musk-scented  dandies  and  mincing  dames  had 
to  beg  our  pardon  by  kissing  The  Rights  of 
Man!  The  poor  things  fairly  shook  in  their 
shoes  as  they  saw  our  glittering  teeth,  white 
as  the  fangs  of  the  wolves  on  the  Luberon, 
and  our  flashing  eyes  under  dust-white  brows. 
We  made  short  work  of  them — pulling  off  their 
hats  and  their  silk  cockades  and  ordering  them 
in  our  strong  Proven9al  tongue,  deep  and  mel- 
low as  the  roll  of  drums,  to  cry  with  us  Vive 
la  Nation !  It  was  good  to  see  their  shaking 
and  trembling  and  their  pinched  disdainful  faces 
as  they  joined  in  that  Patriot  shout. 

The  people  in  this  quarter  of  the  town,  far 
from  welcoming  us  from  doors  and  windows 
and  balconies,  hurried  away  from  us  into  the 
depths  of  their  houses  and  all  the  welcome  we 


232 


got  was  the  banging-to  of  shutters  and  the 
grating  of  bolts  and  bars.  But  welcome  or  no 
welcome,  our  drums  rattled  on  and  the  chant 
of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  rang  out  on  the  air. 

At  last,  glowing  with  excitement,  hoarse 
with  shouting,  and  dripping  with  sweat,  we 
came  to  our  barracks;  that  stood  in  a  puzzle 
of  streets  in  the  very  middle  of  Paris.  We 
found  ourselves  far  off  from  the  National  As- 
sembly, far  off  from  the  King's  Castle,  far  off 
from  everywhere.  It  was  all  the  doings  of  that 
Santerre!  Don't  talk  to  me  about  people  who 
keep  their  feelings  inside  of  them  and  who 
neither  laugh  nor  cry  ! 

Santerre  started  to  make  us  a  speech  ;  but 
he  jabbered  away  in  French,  and  we  could  not 
understand  more  than  five  words  in  ten.  I 
think  he  was  trying  to  tell  us  why  we  hadn't 
gone  straight  to  the  Castle;  and  then  he  tried 
to  smooth  us  down  by  saying  that  we  were  to 
have  a  feast  offered  to  us  that  evening  at  the 
Champs  Elysees. 

But  here  Margan  caught  him  up  short. 
"Mister  Parisian,"  said  our  big  pockmarked 
Sergeant,  "you  must  excuse  me  if  I  cut  into 
your  speech.  I  should  like,  if  possible,  to  get 
into  your  head  that  we  didn't  come  all  the  way 
to  Paris  in  order  to  string  beads,  nor  did  we 


In  tl)e  Strange  New  (Eimeo.         233 

swallow  two  hundred  leagues  of  blazing  dust 
in  order  to  end  off  with  a  spree.  Down  in 
Marseilles  each  one  of  us  has  his  own  little 
cabanon,  his  own  quiet  nook  by  the  sea-side 
or  on  the  hills,  to  which  he  can  go  for  his  sum- 
mer pleasure — taking  along  his  garlic  and  oil  to 
make  aioli,  and  the  fish  and  saffron  for  his  pot 
of  bouillabaisse.  We  can  do  our  junketting  at 
home.  I  tell  you  squarely  that  all  we  came 
here  for  was  to  upset  the  King  and  save  the 
country.  We  came  for  nothing  else;  and  if 
you  think  you  can  take  the  taste  of  that  out 
of  our  mouths  by  stuffing  us  with  pastry, 
why— 

But  here  Barbaroux  broke  in  with :  "  Hush, 
hush,  friend  Margan !  You  are  quite  right — but 
listen  to  what  Patriot  Danton  has  to  say,  and 
'you  will  see  that  we  all  are  of  one  mind." 

In  a  moment  Danton  had  mounted  on  a 
table  and  had  started  off  with  a  speech  that 
went  like  a  bugle-call!  He  could  talk  for  half 
an  hour  at  a  stretch  and  always  say  just  the 
right  thing.  It  was  a  great  pity  that  he  had  to 
speak  in  French;  but  even  in  French  we  could 
understand  that  he  was  speaking  well.  There 
was  a  man  for  you!  He  was  not  like  Santerre! 
When  he  finished,  while  we  were  cheering 
him,  Barbaroux  flung  himself  into  his  arms 


234  &l)c  Hecs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

and  they  hugged  and  kissed  before  us  all;  and 
then  they  both  promised  us  that  within  three 
days  they  would  take  us  to  the  King's  Castle. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  we  had  served 
out  to  us  rations  of  wine  and  bread  and  ham, 
and  we  were  mighty  glad  to  get  them.  By 
that  time  it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  as  we  had  not  tasted  a  mouthful  since  be- 
fore sunrise  we  were  as  hungry  as  wolves. 

But  what  Vauclair  and  I  most  wanted  was 
to  hunt  up  Lazuli,  and  we  made  short  work  of 
our  rations  and  hurried  off.  Our  guns  we  left 
at  the  barracks,  along  with  our  bundles;  but 
into  our  red  taiolo,  drawn  tight  about  our 
waists,  we  stuck  our  pistols,  and  we  carried 
also  our  swords.  And  then  off  we  started  for 
the  house  of  Planchot  the  joiner  in  the  blind 
alley  close  by  the  Bastille. 

The  streets  were  still  all  topsy-turvy  after 
our  passage.  But  doors  and  windows  were 
open  again,  and  groups  of  people  were  stand- 
ing on  the  thresholds  and  at  the  crossways 
whispering  among  themselves.  As  we  passed 
them  they  stopped  their  talk  to  turn  around 
and  stare  hard  at  us;  but  we  took  no  notice  of 
them — beyond  sticking  our  hands  into  our  red 
sashes  and  holding  fast  our  pistols  all  ready, 
should  there  be  need  for  it,  to  draw  and  fire. 


In  tl)e  Strange  Nero  QLimes.        235 

All  this  while  I  had  not  said  anything  to 
Vauclair  about  my  having  seen  Mademoiselle 
Adeline  with  Lazuli.  That  sight  had  utterly 
bewildered  me.  I  wondered  if  I  really  had 
seen  her  ?  If,  after  all,  she  had  not  been  a  sort 
of  vision  that  had  come  to  me — begotten  of 
my  hunger  and  weariness  and  my  excitement 
in  the  midst  of  the  tremendous  rushing  and 
roaring  of  the  crowd  ? 

On  we  went,  turning  corner  after  corner  and 
crossing  little  and  big  open  spaces,  and  com- 
ing at  last  to  the  Impasse  Guemenee  without 
having  had  any  adventures  at  all.  As  we  stood 
outside  the  door  we  could  hear  the  smooth 
"hush,  hush"  of  a  big  plane  as  it  threw  off 
the  long  shavings;  but  the  planing  stopped 
short  at  our  loud  knock,  and  then  the  door  flew 
open  and  there  was  Planchot  himself.  It  was 
plain  that  he  knew  Vauclair  on  the  instant;  but 
instead  of  shaking  hands  and  welcoming  him 
he  turned  his  back  on  us  and  rushed  off  like  a 
crazy  man  shouting:  "Vauclair!  Vauclair! 
The  good  companion  Vauclair!  " 

A  moment  later  we  heard  Lazuli,  upstairs, 
screaming:  "It  is  he!  Clairet!  Clairet!  Come 
quick!" — and  Clairet's  little  voice  crying: 
"Papa,  Papa!" 

We  met  them  on  the  staircase,  and  how 


236  ®!)e  Rcbs  of  tl)e  iflibi. 


we  all  hugged  and  kissed!  How  sweet  Lazu- 
li's  hearty  kisses  were,  and  how  entrancing  the 
feel  around  -my  neck  of  her  dear  arms!  The 
blood  rushed  through  my  veins  and  my  heart 
beat  hard.  I  was  no  longer  a  child,  but  I  was 
not  yet  enough  of  a  man  to  understand  why  a 
kiss  should  so  upset  me. 

After  a  moment  Lazuli  exclaimed:  "You 
haven't  seen  us  all  yet.  The  family  has  grown. 
Poor  little  Mademoiselle  Adeline  is  with  us  — 
you  remember  her,  Pascalet  ?  She  saved  you 
from  wicked  Surto's  claws.  And  now  I  believe 
I  have  saved  her  from  death.  She  is  very  sad, 
poor  child,  but  she  has  a  good  spirit  of  her 
own.  I  must  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  was  so 
sorry  for  her  on  the  trip  from  Avignon  to  Paris. 
It  was  she  La  Jacarasse  was  so  rough  to  in  the 
coach."  As  she  spoke,  Lazuli  opened  the 
door,  adding:  "1  know,  Vauclair,  you  will 
say  as  I  do  —  when  there  is  enough  for  three, 
there  is  enough  for  four." 

It  was  lucky  we  had  not  far  to  go  just  then, 
for  this  news  upset  me  more  than  all  our  long 
march  in  sun  and  rain  and  dust  and  wind.  I, 
who  had  dragged  at  my  cannon  like  a  beast  of 
burden  and  had  thought  nothing  of  it,  felt  my 
strong  legs  give  way  on  hearing  the  name  of 
this  young  girl.  There  she  stood,  white  as 


Sn  ll)e  Strange  Nero  9Timcs.         237 

wax,  her  beautiful  large  soft  eyes  dim  and 
sunken;  and  in  an  instant  I  had  flung  myself 
at  her  feet  and  was  kissing  her  hand.  She 
brought  the  past  back  to  me.  My  village,  our 
hut  of  La  Garde,  my  mother,  my  father!  It 
seemed  as  if  in  her  flowing  robe,  in  her  soft 
laces,  she  bore  the  scent  of  the  wild  clematis  and 
of  the  broom-flowers  that  bloomed  far  away  in 
our  lanes.  The  hand  I  was  kissing  was  the  same 
that  had  given  me  the  bit  of  white  bread ;  the 
same  that  drew  the  bolts  of  the  dungeon  door 
at  Avignon !  And — was  it  possible  ? — she  too 
was  deeply  moved.  She  took  me  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  me  as  Lazuli  had  done!  Oh 
how  utterly  delicious  it  was!  Suddenly  I 
felt  her  delicate  slender  body  yield  and  sway; 
and  as  I  held  her  fast  I  saw  that  she  had 
fainted. 

Lazuli  caught  her  from  me;  and,  as  if  she 
had  been  a  little  child,  gathered  her  up  in  her 
arms,  saying:  "  Don't  be  worried,  it  is  nothing 
but  a  faintingfit;  and  no  wonder,  poor  child! 
That  journey  was  such  an  awful  thing  for  her. 
She  suffered  and  wept  the  whole  length  of  it." 
Still  holding  in  her  arms  the  sweet  girl,  who 
as  she  lay  there,  limp  and  helpless,  looked  like 
an  armful  of  flowers,  Lazuli  disappeared  into  a 
little  dark  room — leaving  us  all  upset  and  flus- 


238  ®l]e  ttebs  of  tlje  JttiM. 

tered  out  in  the  kitchen  to  stand  staring  at  each 
other. 

Just  then  we  heard  the  clatter  of  old  Plan- 
chot's  wooden  shoes  on  the  stair.  He  had 
come  to  greet  Vauclair  according  to  the  rite 
and  ceremonial  of  their  craft.  To  make  this 
greeting  what  it  should  be  he  had  put  on  his 
Sunday  hat  and  his  best  wig;  and  before  he 
said  a  word  he  laid  a  square  and  a  compass 
down  between  himself  and  Vauclair  on  the 
floor.  At  once  Vauclair  made  the  proper  mo- 
tions of  hand  and  foot,  to  which  Planchot  re- 
plied properly;  and  then,  under  their  raised 
hands,  they  embraced  over  the  quilibret;  that 
is,  the  compass  and  square. 

"And  how  goes  it  with  you,  my  Avignon- 
nais?"  Planchot  said.  "And  how  goes  it 
with  you,  La  Liberte?''  Vauclair  answered. 
And  then  they  went  on  with  greeting  after 
greeting,  and  never  would  have  stopped  at  all 
had  not  Lazuli,  her  finger  on  her  lip,  come 
back  to  us. 

"  It  will  be  nothing  serious,"  she  said;  and 
as  she  turned  to  Planchot  she  added:  "Our 
little  girl  has  had  a  fainting  fit.  The  crowd, 
the  heat,  the  excitement  of  seeing  her  father, 
was  too  much  for  her.  But  she  is  better  now. 
She  soon  will  be  all  right." 


3n  ll)e  Strange  Netu  ®imee.         239 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  Planchot.  "  She  is  a 
delicate  child.  She  is  as  pale  as  pine  shavings." 
And  then,  tapping  Clairet's  cheeks,  he  went 
on:  "Here's  a  fine  little  man!  You  are  not 
like  your  sister;  you  don't  get  frightened  when 
you  see  our  Patriots,  our  Reds  from  the  beauti- 
ful South,  march  by!"  He  turned  to  Lazuli, 
who  was  making  signs  to  us  to  be  quiet,  and 
asked:  "Wouldn't  you  like  a  little  orange- 
flower  water  for  the  child  ?  Speak  right  out  if 
you  would.  We  are  all  good  Reds  together, 
and  everything  in  the  house  is  yours.  I 
wouldn't  talk  that  way  if  you  were  Aristos — 
those  wretches  who  are  only  waiting  for  the 
Austrians  and  Germans  to  come  to  help  them 
ruin  the  country  and  kill  the  Revolution. 
There  is  nothing  for  Aristos  here — except  pow- 
der and  ball  and  the  sharp  edge  of  my  axe! 
But  I'll  leave  you  now.  You  need  rest,  and 
I've  got  more  than  enough  work  to  do." 

Planchot  stopped  his  chattering  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room — but  took  Vauclair  with  him 
to  the  threshold  and  whispered:  "I  have  an 
order  for  seven  guillotines.  I  must  have  them 
ready  for  the  Jacobins  within  the  fortnight." 
Then  he  left  us,  and  we  heard  his  sabots  go 
clacking  down  the. stairs. 

Lazuli  pushed-to  and  fastened  the  door  and 
17 


240  fttye  ftebs  of  llje  JttiM. 

brought  out  a  bottle  of  muscatel  and  some  bis- 
cuits; and  then,  seating  herself  at  the  the  table 
as  close  as  she  could  get  to  us,  she  began  to 
tell  in  a  low  voice  how  she  had  saved  Adeline 
and  had  passed  her  off  to  Planchot  as  her  own 
child. 

"  You  remember,"  she  said,  "  how  at  Sau- 
lieu  I  told  you  about  the  poor  young  girl  who 
was  travelling  with  La  Jacarasse  ?  Well,  just 
after  you  were  called  away  by  the  drums,  they 
came  to  take  their  places  in  the  coach.  La 
Jacarasse  was  very  drunk.  She  staggered 
every  which  way,  and  in  getting  into  the 
coach  she  stumbled  and  fell  sprawling — drop- 
ping her  big  bag,  out  of  which  fell  her  pig- 
killing  knife.  But  she  managed  to  climb  in 
and  take  her  seat;  and  after  her  came  the  poor 
young  lady,  blushing  and  ashamed  and  scarcely 
daring  to  call  her  soul  her  own.  She  was  cry- 
ing, but  trying  to  hold  in  her  sobs  like  a  child 
who  is  afraid  of  a  whipping.  In  the  coach  we 
all  looked  at  each  other,  shaking  our  heads; 
for,  though  no  one  spoke  out  about  it,  the 
sight  went  to  our  very  hearts.  And  then  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  was  going  to  find  out 
who  that  poor  child  was,  and  that  I  would 
do  my  best  to  rescue  her.  So  I  sat  down 
beside  her,  in  front  of  La  Jacarasse — who  fell 


Jfn  tlje  Strange  Nero  €imes.         241 

asleep  and  snored  away  to  the  jolting  of  the 
coach. 

•'Then  in  the  dark  I  whispered  in  the  girl's 
ear:  'My  dear,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are 
crying.  Tell  me  what  hurts  you,  perhaps  1  can 
help  you.' 

"  'Thank  you  so  much,'  she  answered  in 
a  trembling  whisper.  'How  kind  you  are! 
But  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  for  me.  That 
woman  will  see  the  end  of  me.  There  is 
some  plot  against  me  that  I  can  not  under- 
stand. How  could  my  mother  have  given  me 
into  such  a  creature's  hands  ?  It  would  have 
been  better  had  she  sent  me  to  Paris  alone.' 

"  '  Who  are  you,  dear  child  ?  Who  is  your 
mother  ? ' 

"  'I  am  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  d'Am- 
brun.  My  name  is  Adeline.  My  father  and 
my  mother,  with  my  brother  Robert,  started 
for  Paris  some  time  ago.  They  were  in  a  great 
hurry  to  be  off  to  help  the  King  of  France,  who 
is  in  some  sort  of  danger.  I  had  had  a  dread- 
ful fright  and  was  too  weak  to  go  with  them, 
and  so  they  left  me  behind  for  this  horrible 
woman  to  bring  me  to  Paris  in  the  first  coach 
from  Avignon.  Oh,  Great  Saints!  Oh,  Holy 
Maries  of  the  Sea!  Shall  I  ever  reach  home 
alive!  And  even  should  I  reach  home ' 


242  aije  Hebe  of  tl)e  ittibi. 

"'Should  you  reach  home?  Why,  then 
you  will  be  safe,  of  course.  Your  mother 
must  love  you  so;  must  be  so  good  to  you.' 

"  '  It  is  not  of  my  mother  that  I  am  most 
afraid,  but  of  a  wicked  man,  a  German,  who 
is  our  game-keeper.  He  and  La  Jacarasse  have 
agreed  between  them  to  get  rid  of  me,  I  am 
sure.  They  all  are  blind  to  that  German's 
wickedness;  and  the  blindest  is  my  mother. 
It  is  not  long  since  she — who  used  to  be  so 
kind  to  me — threatened  me  with  a  blow  be- 
cause I  blamed  him.  I  fear  him  even  more 
than  I  do  La  Jacarasse.  I  am  certain  that  the 
two  have  sworn  my  death.  What  can  I  do  ? 
I  pray  God  to  take  me  soon  to  himself! '  As 
she  said  this  she  began  to  sob  and  cry  so  piti- 
fully that  I  got  to  crying  with  her.  It  almost 
broke  my  heart. 

"  Of  course  I  knew  the  whole  story  as  soon 
as  she  told  me  her  name;  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  would  risk  anything  to  get  this 
dear  little  girl,  who  had  saved  our  Pascalet's 
life,  safe  away  from  that  wicked  Surto  and  out 
of  the  claws  of  La  Jacarasse.  Over  on  the  seat 
in  front  of  us  the  good-for-nothing  beast  of 
a  Jacarasse  still  was  snoring;  and  so,  draw- 
ing closer  to  the  dear  child,  I  whispered :  '  I  am 
nothing  but  a  poor  woman  of  the  people,  with 


Jfn  tlje  Strange  New  ®imes.         243 

all  my  riches  in  my  twenty  nails.  Yet  I  took 
little  Pascalet  into  my  home — the  Pascalet  from 
La  Garde  whom  you  saved  alive  out  of  the 
vault — and  I  will  take  you  into  my  home  too.' 

"When  I  said  this,  the  poor  girl  flung  her- 
self on  my  neck  and  as  she  kissed  me  again 
and  again  she  sobbed  out:  'Oh,  save  me! 
Save  me!  I  will  follow  you  any  where  to  get 
away  from  that  awful  woman  and  her  great 
knife  that  she  threatens  my  life  with  when 
she  is  drunk.' 

"  'Be  careful,  she  is  stirring.  Now  get  it 
clear  in  your  mind,  my  dear,  that  when  we 
come  to  Paris  and  1  get  out  of  the  coach  you 
are  to  follow  right  behind,  as  if  you  were  my 
daughter.' 

"  '  I  will  do  just  what  you  tell  me.  I  trust 
you  because  you  were  good  to  little  Pascalet.' 

"'Hush!  We  must  not  talk  any  more 
now.  Day  is  almost  here  and  La  Jacarasse  is 
waking.  Remember  what  I  have  told  you. 
When  we  leave  the  coach  do  you  follow  me, 
that  is  all.' 

"Just  then  La  Jacarasse  gave  a  tremendous 
yawn,  and  then  began  to  stare  around  her  with 
her  half  open  piggish  eyes  as  though  she  didn't 
know  where  she  was. 

"Mademoiselle  Adeline  no  longer  sobbed. 


244  ®l)e  Hebs  of  tl)c  Xflibi. 

Every  now  and  then  she  glanced  at  me  as 
much  as  to  say :  '  I  know  you  will  save  me 
from  that  woman! ' — and  1,  under  our  shawls, 
would  give  her  hand  a  little  squeeze. 

"The  coach  with  its  three  horses  abreast 
and  a  fourth  ahead  went  at  a  good  rate,  stop- 
ping before  the  inns  of  the  towns  and  villages 
we  went  through  only  long  enough  to  leave 
the  letters  and  to  let  La  Jacarasse  swallow  a 
glass  of  wine  or  brandy.  The  nearer  we  drew 
to  Paris  the  drunker  she  became,  until  at  last 
she  could  hardly  see  the  coach  door  when  she 
got  in. 

"  'So  much  the  better  for  us,'  I  whispered 
to  the  dear  little  girl.  '  Let  her  drink  like  a 
sieve.  The  drunker  she  is  the  easier  it  will  be 
to  give  her  the  slip.' 

"  At  one  of  our  stops  I  got  a  chance  to  tell 
the  coachman  what  I  meant  to  do,  and  he  was 
as  kind,  as  he  could  be  about  it — you  saw  at 
Saulieu  what  a  nice  a  sort  of  man  he  was.  '  I 
like  to  see  a  good  woman  like  you,'  he  said. 
'  Of  course  I'll  help  you  all  I  can.  Now  listen. 
We  stop  in  Paris  before  the  inn  of  the  Soleil 
d'Or.  I  will  get  La  Jacarasse  out  of  the  coach 
first  by  taking  her  off  to  have  a  drink  with  me 
— and  then  do  you  and  the  young  girl  get  away 
as  fast  as  you  can.  Don't  bother  about  your 


Jn  tlje  Strange  Nero  ®itne0.        245 

baggage.  I'll  look  after  it,  and  you  can  get  it 
whenever  you  please.' 

"Two  days  after  the  coachman  and  I  had 
this  talk  we  got  to  Paris.  It  was  about  night- 
fall when  we  came  in,  and  almost  dark  when 
we  stopped  in  front  of  the  Soleil  d'Or.  The 
coachman  gave  me  a  wink  as  he  opened  the 
door  and  called  out:  'Who  is  going  to  stand 
treat  to  a  glass  of  brandy  ? ' 

"  '  I  am!  I  am! '  cried  La  Jacarasse,  in  her 
rough  voice — and  went  stumbling  across  our 
feet  and  legs,  dragging  her  nasty  smelly  bag 
after  her,  and  lurched  out  through  the  coach 
door.  The  coachman  kept  her  from  falling  by 
catching  her  under  the  arms  and  dumping  her 
down  on  the  pavement,  and  off  they  went  for 
their  drink. 

"That  was  our  chance.  I  made  a  sign  to 
the  darling  as  I  caught  up  Clairet  in  my  arms, 
and  to  the  wonder  of  everybody  we  got  out 
and  hurried  off — leaving  all  our  things  behind 
us — and  in  ten  steps  we  were  lost  and  hidden 
in  the  crowd  of  people  coming  and  going  on 
all  sides. 

"Of  course  we  didn't  know  the  way;  but 
I  had  a  tongue  in  my  head  and  asked  a  man 
selling  red,  white  and  blue  cockades  how  to 
find  the  Impasse  Guemenee.  '  It's  only  two 


246  f£l)e  ftcbs  of  tl)e  ittiM. 

steps  off,'  said  he.  'Turn  the  corner  of  the 
Place  du  Faubourg  de  Gloire  into  the  Rue  Saint- 
Antoine  and  follow  your  nose  for  no  more  than 
half  a  minute — and  there  you  are.  Vive  la 
Nation !  Won't  you  buy  a  cockade  ? ' 

"Cockades  indeed!  That  was  no  time  for 
buying  cockades!  We  started  off  as  fast  as 
we  could  go — giving  a  look  back  now  and 
then  to  see  if  La  Jacarasse  was  after  us,  though 
we  did  not  feel  much  afraid  of  her;  and  in  a 
very  few  minutes  we  found  ourselves  all  hot 
and  panting  in  the  Impasse  Guemenee  and  in 
front  of  Planchot's  door.  It  was  Planchot  him- 
self who  opened  the  door  to  us;  and  when  I 
told  him  who  I  was  and  showed  him  Adeline 
and  Clairet  and  said,  '  Here  are  Vauclair's  chil- 
dren,' he  and  his  good  wife  Janetoun  hugged 
and  kissed  us  as  if  we  were  their  very  own. 
Nobody  could  have  been  kinder  than  they 
were.  They  got  beds  ready  for  us,  they 
lighted  the  fire  to  get  our  supper,  and  in  every 
way  they  treated  us  as  if  they  had  known  us 
all  their  lives.  We  talked  away  to  them  of 
our  South  Country,  and  they  asked  a  thousand 
questions  about  you  and  about  the  Marseilles 
Battalion;  and  so  in  a  moment  we  were 
friends.  But  if  I  had  told  who  Mademoiselle 
Adeline  really  was  I  am  sure  there  would  have 


Jfn  ttje  Strange  Nero  9Time0.         247 

been  trouble;  and  I  am  sure  that  unless  we 
keep  our  secret,  and  go  on  calling  her  our 
daughter,  there  will  be  trouble  still." 

"  You  have  done  exactly  right,"  said  Vau- 
clair.  "I  know  Planchot  all  the  way  through, 
and  better  dough  never  went  to  the  making  of 
a  man.  He  is  kindness  itself.  He  carries  his 
heart  in  his  hand.  But  if  he  knew  that  Made- 
moiselle Adeline  was  the  daughter  of  a  mar- 
quis, of  a  noble,  who  had  come  to  fight  for  the 
King,  he  would  be  quite  capable  of  turning  her 
neck  and  crop  out  of  doors.  Not  a  word  must 
be  said  about  it — be  sure,  Pascalet,  that  you 
keep  your  tongue  inside  your  teeth.  If  that 
girl  went  back  to  her  family  she  would  simply 
be  going  into  the  jaws  of  the  wolf.  It  is  clear 
that  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse  and  the  Marquise 
understand  each  other  like  three  pickpockets 
at  a  fair.  Mark  my  words,  the  three  of  them 
have  sworn  the  death  of  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun 
and  of  Count  Robert  and  of  Mademoiselle  Ade- 
line. As  to  the  Marquis  and  his  son  Robert,  I 
don't  care  a  button  what  happens  to  them. 
Let  them  be  hanged  or  have  their  throats  cut — 
it  is  no  more  than  they  deserve.  But  we'll  save 
Adeline,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why! " 

"No,  no,  I  won't  have  it!     I  won't  have 
it!"  cried  Adeline,  as  she  suddenly  joined  us. 


248  (Tljc  ttcbs  of  ttje 


"  Do  you  think  I  will  let  my  father  and  my 
brother  die  without  going  to  their  rescue  ?  I 
heard  what  you  said  about  them,  and  I  know 
that  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse  surely  will  try  to 
strangle  or  stab  them.  I  must  go  home  to 
protect  my  people!  Take  me  home  —  our 
house  is  near  here  in  the  Rue  des  Douze 
Fortes."  And  then,  turning  from  Vauclair, 
Adeline  flung  her  arms  so  tightly  around  me 
that  I  scarcely  could  breathe  and  said  implor- 
ingly: "Thou,  Pascalet,  thou  canst  not  refuse 
me.  Promise  to  take  me  home.  Death  is 
nothing  to  me  if  I  can  save  my  father  and  my 
brother!  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dear  little  girl,"  said  Vau- 
clair. "  Remember,  no  one  here  must  know 
who  you  are.  We'll  save  your  father  and 
we'll  save  your  brother,  too;  but  you  must 
be  silent  or  we  shall  all  be  lost.  Hark!  I  hear 
some  one  coming  up  the  stairs!  " 

As  for  me,  the  touch  of  Adeline's  arms  had 
so  upset  me  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  was 
about.  I  cried  in  company  with  her,  and  kept 
saying:  "Oh  yes,  yes,  we'll  save  them,  and 
I'll  take  you  home!  " 

How  strange  that  was!  Who  would  ever 
have  thought,  when  I  left  my  village,  that  a  day 
would  come  when  1  would  consent  to  save 


3n  Itye  Strange  Nero  &imes.         249 

from  death  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun  and,  still 
more  wonderful,  his  son  Robert!  Count  Rob- 
ert who  had  nearly  killed  my  father,  beating  him 
like  a  dog  and  leaving  him  for  dead ;  Count 
Robert  who  had  shut  me  up  to  die  of  hunger 
in  the  vault! 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  when 
Lazuli  opened  it  there  was  Janetoun,  Planchot's 
wife,  come  up  to  greet  us.  Then  came  no 
end  of  hand  shakings  and  how-de-does  and 
how  d'ye  do  again,  and  compliments  too! 
"  Oh,  what  fine  handsome  fellows!  "  cried  Jane- 
toun. "That's  the  kind  of  men  we  have  in 
the  South — they  are  not  afraid  of  a  long  march ! 
They  are  not  like  these  dried  up  Parisians  who 
are  neither  fish,  flesh  nor  fowl  and  can  out-talk 
the  wind.  Like  the  dogs,  they  find  a  safe 
place  and  then  bark  from  it.  You  won't  do 
like  that!  When  you  get  hold  of  Capet,  as 
they  did  last  month,  you'll  squeeze  his  neck 
for  him — and  serve  him  right  too ! 

"And  now  I've  a  bit  of  news  for  you.  It 
is  arranged,  you  know,  that  you  and  your 
comrades  of  the  Battalion  are  to  be  given  a 
banquet  to-night  in  the  Champs  Elysees. 
Well,  the  Aristocrats  will  be  there  and  they 
will  try  to  start  a  fight  with  you.  They  are 
arming  for  it  now.  But  don't  you  fight  with 


250  ®l)e  ftebs  of  tlje  Xttibi. 

them.  Tell  your  friends  in  the  Battalion  what 
is  coming,  and  tell  them  to  let  the  Aristocrats 
alone.  Now  I've  warned  you — and  forewarned 
is  forearmed !  " 

"Janetoun  is  right  in  telling  us,"  said  Vau- 
clair,  "  and  we  must  be  off.  If  things  are  as 
she  says  they  are,  we  must  be  with  the  Bat- 
talion. Right  about  face,  Pascalet!  March! 
And  as  to  any  Aristocrats  stopping  us,  I'd  like 
to  see  them  do  it  while  two  good  watch  dogs 
are  by  me,  and  I  have  this  sharp  walking-stick 
at  my  side! " — and  he  touched  as  he  spoke  his 
pistols  and  his  sword.  "But  tell  me,  Jane- 
toun," he  added,  "  will  that  Santerre  be  there  ? 
Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"You  must  not  think  I  want  to  get  rid  of 
you,"  said  Janetoun,  lowering  her  voice;  "but 
really  I  do  think  that  to-night  you  ought  all  to 
be  together.  As  for  Santerre — well,  you  had 
better  talk  to  Planchot  about  him ;  he  knows 
him,  and  knows  how  much  he  can  be  trusted." 
And  then,  with  her  finger  on  her  mouth,  she 
whispered:  "  I  can  tell  you  this,  though — only 
last  evening  he  was  seen  stealing  out  of  the 
King's  Castle  just  at  the  edge  of  dark!  " 

Janetoun  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then 
speaking  in  her  natural  voice,  she  went  on: 
"  But  don't  let  what  I've  told  you  worry  you. 


3n  tlje  Strange  Nero  (Eimes.         251 

As  I  said,  forewarned  is  forearmed.  We  know 
here  all  that  is  going  on.  Planchot  goes  every 
evening  to  the  Jacobin  Club ;  and  they  are  wide 
awake,  those  Jacobins!  It  is  they  who  have 
ordered  the  seven  guillotines !  You  understand  ? 
Well — a  word  to  the  wise,  you  know."  She 
suddenly  turned,  and  as  she  ran  down  the 
stairs  in  a  jiffy,  she  called  back  to  us:  "I  must 
melt  the  glue.  The  guillotines  must  be  ready 
in  a  fortnight.  There  isn't  much  time  to 
spare!" 

"  What  is  a  guillotine,  Vauclair,  anyway  ?  " 
1  asked. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Vauclair  an- 
swered. "The  Jacobins  have  ordered  them — 
like  enough  they  are  seats  or  tables,  for  the 
club  house." 

"They're  a  puzzle  to  me,"  said  Lazuli.  "  j 
can't  make  out  what  they  are;  but  they  cer- 
tainly are  neither  chairs  nor  tables.  Come  and 
see — we  have  one  here  in  the  little  room. 
Planchot  lent  it  to  us  to  use  as  a  bed  for  Ade- 
line." 

We  were  as  full  of  curiosity  as  so  many 
children  and  we  all  went  in  together  laughing 
to  see  the  queer  piece  of  furniture.  What  we 
saw,  lying  flat  on  the  floor,  was  a  sort  of  case 
or  box,  somewhere  about  three  feet  long  and 


252  (Jl)e  Eebs  of  ll)C  4JUM. 


half  as  wide,  from  which  started  arms  at  least 
six  feet  long  into  each  of  which  was  cut  a  deep 
groove  running  its  whole  length.  At  the  top 
the  arms  were  held  together  by  a  solid  cross- 
piece,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  little 
pulley. 

"  I  think,"  said  Lazuli,  "that  it  is  meant  to 
stand  up,  with  the  two  arms  in  the  air.  When 
we  came  here,  Father  Planchot  had  only  one 
bed  for  the  three  of  us;  so  he  said  that  he 
would  fetch  one  of  his  guillotines  up  stairs,  and 
that  we  could  make  it  into  a  bed  for  Adeline. 
You  see,  by  laying  it  down  this  way  and  filling 
it  well  with  shavings,  it  makes  a  very  fair  bed 
indeed.  There  is  room  enough  for  a  child,  or 
indeed  for  a  grown  person,  in  here  between 
the  arms." 

While  Lazuli  was  talking  we  were  looking 
at  the  queer  affair.  Vauclair  raised  it  and 
turned  it  over  and  looked  at  it  carefully.  But 
he  ended  by  making  a  little  puzzled  sound,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "Deuce  take  me  if  I  can 
guess  what  the  thing  is  for  at  all!  " 

And  then  I  ventured  to  say  that  perhaps  it 
was  to  be  used  in  making  triumphal  arches  or 
something  of  that  sort,  for  some  grand  festival 
—  such  as  the  Fete-Dieu  in  Avignon. 

"You've  hit  it,  I  do  believe,"  said  Vau- 


3n  tlje  Strange  Nero  &imes.         253 

clair.  "No  doubt  they  are  for  some  great 
festival  of  rejoicing.  What  geese  we  were 
not  to  see  it  right  off."  And  then  we  went 
back  into  the  kitchen  and  began  to  get  ready 
to  leave. 

While  we  were  tightening  our  red  sashes 
Adeline  once  more  threw  her  arms  round  my 
neck  crying:  "My  Pascalet,  you  will  surely 
come  back  to  me,  and  surely  will  take  me  to 
my  father's  house  ?" 

Vauclair  saw  how  upset  I  was  and  answered 
for  me.  "Yes,  dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  "just 
as  soon  as  we  have  taken  the  King's  Castle  we 
will  take  you  to  your  people,  that  I  promise 
you.  Then  the  Marseilles  men  will  be  the 
masters  and  will  make  laws  for  Paris.  Surto 
and  the  wicked  Jacarasse,  when  we  find  them, 
shall  be  shut  up  tight  in  prison  so  that  no  one 
will  ever  see  them  again.  You  must  be  a  very 
good  girl  and  let  us  leave  you  quietly  now, 
and  we  will  come  back  to-morrow.  If  you 
don't  keep  very  quiet  La  Jacarasse  will  find 
where  you  are  hidden  and  will  carry  you  off; 
and  she,  certainly,  will  not  take  you  home." 

As  he  spoke,  Vauclair  gently  loosened  her 
tightly  clasped  arms  from  about  my  neck ;  and 
I,  encouraged  by  Vauclair's  words,  added: 
"  Yes,  yes,  we'll  take  you  home;  and  we  will 


254  ®be  Rebs  of  tfye  Alibi. 

protect  you,  too,  from  that  horrible  Jac- 
arasse." 

As  she  tried  to  thank  me  I  closed  her 
mouth  with  a  kiss;  and  then  Vauclair  caught 
me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  out  of  the  room. 
As  we  went  down  stairs  I  heard  Lazuli  laugh- 
ing and  saying:  "Come,  come,  you  will  be  a 
most  unreasonable  girl  if  you  keep  on  crying 
after  a  kiss  like  that." 

Oh,  that  kiss !  How  I  felt  it  thrilling  through 
me!  Though  we  were  out  in  the  big  street  I 
neither  saw  people  nor  carriages  coming  and 
going.  My  cheeks  felt  as  red  as  fire,  my  ears 
sang,  my  legs  could  hardly  support  me.  Oh, 
how  1  longed  to  go  back  to  the  house  to  kiss 
Adeline  once  more  and  tell  her  all  that  I  wanted 
to  tell!  But  little  by  little  my  senses  came 
back  to  me  and  my  cheeks  cooled  down.  After 
all,  I  wasn't  much  more  than  a  boy,  and  I  was 
full  of  a  boy's  curiosity.  I  stared  at  the  peo- 
ple, the  carriages,  the  sedan-chairs;  I  gaped  at 
the  painted  and  gilded  signs,  which  were  made 
in  all  sorts  of  fantastic  shapes  and  swayed  in 
the  wind  over  the  shop-keepers'  doors.  By  the 
time  that  we  reached  the  Place  de  la  Bastille— 
or,  as  they  called  it  then  the  Faubourg  de  la 
Gloire — I  was  quite  myself  again.  In  the 
morning  we  had  seen  the  ruins  of  the  strong- 


Jn  tbe  Strange  Neto  &imes.        255 

hold  crowded  with  people;  but  without  the 
people  it  took  even  more  of  a  hold  on  me.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  had  been  tumbled  down  by  an 
earthquake.  When  we  had  walked  all  round 
it,  looking  at  it  from  every  side,  we  went  into 
the  Soleil  d'Or — where  the  Avignon  coach  had 
stopped,  and  where  the  coachman  had  given 
Adeline  and  Lazuli  their  chance  to  run  away 
from  La  Jacarasse. 

In  this  inn  I  saw  a  queer  thing  that  bothered 
me  a  great  deal.  There  hung  from  the  ceiling 
two  big  figures  stuffed  with  straw,  just  like 
the  "Carmentrans"  we  parade  around  on 
Shrove  Tuesday.  They  were  dressed  up  in 
paper — one  as  a  general  of  the  army,  the  other 
as  a  crowned  lady. 

"Don't  you  know  what  those  are?"  Vau- 
clair  asked.  ' '  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  The  general  is 
Lafayette,  and  the  fine  lady  is  the  Queen.  Every 
evening  the  Patriots  of  the  quarter,  who  hold 
their  meetings  here,  carry  those  two  figures 
up  to  the  highest  window  in  the  house.  And 
then — kerflop!  and  down  they  go  on  the  pave- 
ment to  the  shouts  of  the  people,  who  join 
hands  and  dance  around  them  to  the  tune  of 
'£a  ira.'  All  of  which  means  that  some  day 
in  the  King's  Castle  we  will  do  the  same 

thing! " 

is 


256  QEI)e  ftefcs  of  tlje  fttibi. 

When  we  came  out  of  the  Soleil  d'Or,  we 
turned  down  and  went  along  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  a  river  that  flows  through  Paris.  It  is 
not  near  as  wide  as  the  Rhone,  and  is  very 
dirty.  The  water  is  so  foul  that  it  looks  like 
the  last  skimming  of  olive-oil  or  the  drainings 
of  a  stable-yard;  and,  compared  with  our 
Rhone,  it  flows  along  so  slowly  that  it  is  hard 
to  tell  which  way  it  goes. 

The  sun  was  almost  down  as  we  passed  in 
front  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville;  and  had  set  by  the 
time  we  reached  the  Champs  Elysees — where 
we  found  all  the  men  of  the  Battalion  with  the 
Paris  folks  who  were  giving  us  our  feast.  The 
table  was  spread  in  a  cabaret  called  the  Grand 
Salon;  and  it  truly  was  a  grand  salon,  I  can 
tell  you,  for  there  was  room  in  it  for  five  hun- 
dred men. 

The  gardens  of  the  Champs  Elysees  were 
crowded  with  people,  some  shouting  "Vive  la 
Nation!"  others,  the  Anti- Patriots:  "Vive  le 
Roi!"  and  "Vive  la  Reine!"  Next  door  to 
the  Grand  Salon  was  a  cabaret  in  which  an- 
other festival  was  going  on;  and  this  other 
festival  had  been  started  by  some  of  the  sprigs 
of  the  nobility — who,  as  well  as  their  serving- 
men,  were  dressed  up  as  National  Guards. 
Nice  National  Guardsmen  they  were!  They 


Jn  tlje  Strange  Nero  ®itnes.         257 

were  the  King's  dogs;  and  they  had  come  on 
purpose  to  make  a  disturbance  and  so  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  us.  Well,  they  got  what  they 
came  for — and  also  something  they  didn't  come 
for,  as  you  will  see ! 

We  were  no  more  than  seated  at  our  table, 
with  Santerre  to  preside  over  us,  than  this 
Royalist  rabble,  right  under  our  windows,  be- 
gan to  sing  songs  in  honour  of  the  tyrant  and 
of  his  Austrian  Queen.  We  let  them  go  on, 
but  soon  the  good  Patriots  of  those  parts  took 
the  matter  up  and  began  calling  out:  "Down 
with  the  foreigners!"  "Down  with  Cob- 
lentz!"  "Down  with  the  Austrian!" — and 
at  this  the  cowards  drew  their  swords  and 
shamefully  fell  upon  the  women  and  children. 
That  was  the  kind  of  fighting  that  suited  them, 
but  it  did  not  suit  us !  "  Help,  Patriots,  help !  " 
the  women  shrieked.  And  then :  "  Help,  Mar- 
seillais! " 

We  would  have  had  snails'  blood  in  our 
veins  had  not  our  hearts  sprung  up  in  answer 
to  that  cry.  In  spite  of  Santerre — who  tried 
to  quiet  us  by  calling  out:  "It  is  nothing, 
nothing  at  all.  Stay  in  your  places  " — we  all 
were  on  our  feet  in  a  moment.  Some  of  us 
ran  out  at  the  door,  some  jumped  out  of  the 
windows;  all  of  us  with  drawn  swords  and 


258  ftlje  &ebs  of  tl)e  IttiM. 

pistols,  and  all  as  eager  as  wolves!  But  when 
the  Aristos  caught  sight  of  us,  instead  of  stay- 
ing to  fight,  off  they  ran  like  rabbits — some  of 
the  hindmost  being  spurred  on  by  the  toes 
of  our  boots  as  well  as  by  the  points  of  our 
swords.  They  all  made  for  the  drawbridge 
of  the  King's  Castle,  while  we  burst  out  laugh- 
ing at  seeing  them  run  away  before  they  were 
hurt. 

One  big  fat  fellow  fell  head  foremost  into  a 
mud-puddle.  I  was  sorry  for  him  and  helped 
him  up;  and  when  he  was  on  his  feet  1  found 
that  he  was  so  tall  that  my  head  was  not  much 
above  the  level  of  his  fat  stomach.  All  the 
same,  I  put  the  point  of  my  sword  to  his  big 
paunch  and  cried:  "Shout  'Vive  la  Nation!' 
— or  in  it  goes!  " 

All  covered  with  mud  as  he  was,  he  made 
an  awful  face  at  me  and  answered:  "I  am 
Count  Moreau  de  Saint-Merri !  " 

"The  deuce  1  care  who  you  are,"  I  an- 
swered. "Shout  'Vive  la  Nation'  or  the 
point  of  my  sword  will  make  a  new  button- 
hole in  your  breeches! " 

' '  Vive  la  Nation !  Vive  la  Nation !  "  shouted 
he — and  then  1  let  him  run  off  to  the  Castle. 

As  we  were  on  our  way  back  to  the  table 
in  the  Grand  Salon  we  saw  marching  up  from 


Jn  tl)e  Strange  Nero  ®imes.         259 

the  other  end  of  the  Champs  Elysees  a  com- 
pany of  Anti-Patriot  National  Guards,  who 
were  coming  to  support  the  lot  we  had  just 
driven  off.  One  of  these,  an  officer  with  silver 
epaulettes,  aimed  at  a  Federal  and  fired;  but 
his  pistol  flashed  in  the  pan.  Instantly  the 
Federal  turned  around  and  blew  out  his  brains. 
The  Aristocrats,  seeing  their  officer  killed, 
broke  in  disorder  and  fled.  This  time  we  did 
not  pretend  to  stab;  we  stabbed  in  earnest. 
The  slowest  and  the  timidest  cried  for  quarter, 
and  at  the  end  we  found  ourselves  with  about 
a  dozen  prisoners  in  hand.  Santerre  joined  us, 
and  for  once  was  earnest  enough.  He  begged 
and  implored  us  to  let  our  prisoners  go.  He 
said  he  would  answer  for  them  himself;  that 
they  really  were  on  our  side;  that  they  were 
our  brothers,  but  had  been  tricked  into  acting 
against  us.  He  talked  and  talked  so  in  his 
French  jargon  that  he  finished  by  making  us 
do  what  he  wanted. 

Our  feast  was  all  spoiled.  But  we  carried 
off  the  food  to  our  barracks  in  the  Rue  Mira- 
beau  le  Patriote,  and  there  we  spent  what  was 
left  of  our  evening  quietly — eating,  drinking  and 
singing  as  if  we  had  been  at  home  down  in 
the  South.  Barbaroux  and  Danton  joined  us 
there,  and  comforted  us  by  promising  that  in 


260  &!)£  Hcbs  of  tl)e 


not  less  than  three  days  we  certainly  should  at- 
tack the  Castle. 

"If  the  Assembly  and  the  National  Guard 
won't  act,"  they  said  to  us,  "we  will  take 
matters  into  our  own  hands.  We  will  put 
down  the  tyrant  and  save  the  country  all  by 
ourselves."  Santerre,  who  had  come  with 
them,  could  not  say  no  to  this;  and  he  prom- 
ised that  in  three  days  his  men  would  march 
with  us  to  the  attack. 

Then  we  stretched  ourselves  out  on  the  stone 
floor  and  slept  there  for  the  rest  of  the  night 
like  logs  ;  and  the  next  day  we  were  up  at  cock 
crow  and  off  to  see  the  town. 

Nobody  stayed  in  the  barracks  but  the  men 
on  guard.  Some  of  us  went  to  take  a  good 
look  at  the  King's  Castle,  and  at  the  bridges 
and  streets  and  alleys  leading  to  it.  Others 
went  to  the  National  Assembly  to  hear  what 
they  were  chattering  about  in  that  place  ;  others 
were  satisfied  to  stare  openmouthed  at  the 
dancing  bears  and  into  the  shop  windows, 
until  you  might  have  thought  they  had  just 
landed  from  Martigues!  Vauclair  and  I,  of 
course,  made  straight  for  the  Impasse  Gue- 
menee  to  see  our  dear  people. 

As  we  entered  the  workshop,  Planchot 
drew  Vauclair  aside,  and  with  a  very  mysteri- 


Jin  Ibe  Strange  Nero  <Eime0.         261 

ous  air  whispered  in  his  ear:  "The  Jacobins 
have  just  ordered  another  seven  guillotines. 
That  makes  fourteen.  I  am  counting  on  your 
help.  Fourteen  guillotines  to  be  ready  in  a 
fortnight !  I  never  can  get  through  a  piece  of 
work  like  that  alone." 

"Surely,  surely,  brother  Planchot,"  Vau- 
clair  answered.  "Of  course  I'll  help  you. 
That's  what  I'm  here  for.  And  isn't  it  for  the 
good  of  the  Revolution,  too  ?  Just  wait  while 
I  run  up  stairs  to  say  good-day  to  my  wife  and 
children,  and  then  I'll  put  on  my  apron  and 
take  hold  of  my  plane." 

Lazuli  and  the  others  had  heard  Vau- 
clair's  voice  and  they  all  came  running 
down  stairs.  Lazuli  kissed  Vauclair,  and 
Adeline  put  her  arms  round  my  neck  and 
kissed  me.  And  then  there  was  a  fire  of  ques- 
tions. 

"Has  all  gone  well?"  "Is  the  King's 
Castle  taken  ?  "  "Is  any  one  dead  ?" 

• '  No, "  we  answered.  ' '  We  haven't  taken 
the  Castle;  we  haven't  even  seen  the  King. 
It  will  be  for  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after  to- 
morrow."" 

Old  Planchot,  his  hands  folded  under  his 
apron,  kept  grinning  at  our  hugging  and  kiss- 
ing and  finally  said:  "Look  here,  Vauclair,  it 


262  ®|)e  ttebs  of  tl)e  fflibi. 

seems  to  me  these  young  people  are  on  mighty 
good  terms  with  each  other!  " 

"  When  the  affairs  of  the  nation  are  all  set- 
tled, brother  Planchot,"  said  Lazuli,  laughing, 
"we'll  have  a  wedding.  We'll  marry  them  in 
front  of  the  Liberty  Tree." 

As  Adeline  heard  these  words  she  remem- 
bered her  training  as  a  well  brought  up  young 
lady  and  blushed  furiously,  while  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Unclasping  her  arms  from  about 
my  neck,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

To  make  things  easier  for  her,  I  acted  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Taking  off  my  sword 
and  pistols  and  my  fine  National  Guard  coat,  I 
rolled  my  shirt  sleeves  up  to  my  elbows  and 
said  to  Planchot:  "You  want  help.  Here  I 
am  all  ready  to  help.  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"Now  that's  the  sort  of  boy  I  like,"  said 
Planchot,  slapping  me  on  the  shoulder.  ' '  Well, 
take  this  plane,  and  square  the  arms  for  the 
guillotines.  Do  it  carefully.  See,  you  are  to 
plane  down  to  the  black  mark.  There  is 
enough  here  to  keep  you  going  for  a  week. 

"As  for  you,  Vauclair,"  Planchot  went  on, 
"you  are  a  master-workman  and  I'll  give  you 
some  of  the  finer  work  to  do.  You  will  make 
the  mortises  in  the  lower  blocks  and  chisel  out 
the  long  grooves  the  whole  length  of  the  arms. 


In  tlje  Slrcmge  Neto  ®im*s.        263 

Those  grooves  must  be  as  straight  and  true  as 
the  lines  on  music  paper." 

"And  can't  we  help  too?"  asked  Lazuli 
and  Adeline  and  Clairet  all  together. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Planchot  answered.  "  There's 
work  for  us  all.  You  can  sweep  away  the 
shavings  and  hand  us  our  tools,  and  you  can 
melt  the  glue — and  among  us  we'll  have  such 
guillotines  as  never  were  seen!  " 

I  started  in  and  planed  away  like  a  good 
one.  Soon  the  floor  beside  me  was  covered 
with  shavings — some  long,  some  short,  some 
delicate  and  shining  like  silk  ribbon — all  twist- 
ing and  curling  together  like  Adeline's  pretty 
hair.  The  pine  wood  with  its  sharp  sweet 
fresh  smell  made  me  feel  almost  as  if  I  were 
once  more  in  the  pine  forests  up  in  my  own 
mountains  at  Malemort.  Close  by  my  bench 
Clairet  and  Adeline  played  in  the  shavings;  and 
whenever  I  asked  for  the  straight-edge  or  the 
square  Adeline  hurried  to  get  it  for  me. 

"Master  Planchot,"  said  Adeline,  "  we  all 
will  go  to  the  Feast  of  the  Guillotines,  won't 
we  ?  Where  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

Planchot  opened  wide  his  eyes,  and  for  a 
moment  shut  his  jaws  together  so  that  his  nose 
almost  touched  his  chin,  as  he  answered: 
"  Yes,  I'll  take  you  all  there,  and  you  shall  see 


of  tle  4JUM. 


how  we'll  use  them.  That  will  be  a  gay  festi- 
val. Nothing  like  it  has  ever  been  seen." 

That  was  enough  for  us;  we  all  were 
sure  then  that  those  things  were  to  be  used  as 
triumphal  arches  for  the  festival  that  was  to 
take  place  after  we  had  captured  the  King's 
Castle. 

"Father  Planchot,  will  there  be  farandoles 
at  the  Guillotine  Feast?"  asked  Clairet  one 
day. 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  fine  farandoles,"  said  Plan- 
chot, winking  at  Vauclair  and  me. 

"And  will  there  be  wreaths  of  box  and 
lovely  flowers  twined  all  around  the  side- 
pieces  of  the  guillotines?"  asked  Adeline. 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  plenty  of  flowers  —  and  all 
of  them  red,"  Planchot  answered. 

Vauclair  and  I  asked  no  questions.  We 
did  not  want  Planchot  to  see  that  we  did  not 
really  understand  how  the  guillotines  were  to 
be  used. 

"Master  Planchot,"  Adeline  went  on, 
"please  lend  me  your  pencil.  1  want  to  put 
my  name  on  the  guillotine  that  I  am  using  as 
a  bed.  Perhaps  1  will  know  it  again  on  the 
day  of  the  feast." 

Our  little  lady  was  the  only  one  of  us  who 
knew  how  to  write,  and  when  she  had  fin- 


In  tfye  Strange  IXeus  (Eimes.        265 

ished  her  fine  performance  we  all  went  to  look 
at  it.  On  the  upper  cross-piece,  beside  the 
little  pulley,  she  had  written  in  big  letters : 

ADELINE 

Oh  that  name !  It  is  more  than  sixty  years 
ago  that  she  wrote  it  there — yet  to-day  I  see  it 
as  plainly  as  I  saw  it  then! 

We  sawed  and  planed  and  worked  together 
steadily  for  eight  days.  Every  evening  Vauclair 
and  I  went  back  to  the  barracks  to  sleep,  and 
every  morning  early  we  came  again  to  Father 
Planchot's ;  when  the  first  questions  would  be 
as  we  crossed  the  threshold:  "  Have  you  taken 
the  King's  Castle  ?  How  many  were  killed  ?" 

But  our  answer  had  to  be  always  the  same: 
"No,  we  haven't  taken  it  yet." 

We  were  beginning  to  think  that  we  never 
would  take  it.  Sometimes  it  was  Santerre 
who  stopped  us  by  declaring  that  he  was  ill 
and  we  must  wait  for  him  to  get  well  again ; 
sometimes  it  was  Petion,  the  Mayor  of  Paris, 
who  stopped  us  by  pulling  a  long  face  and 
saying  mysteriously:  "We  must  wait  or  all 
will  be  lost.  It  is  not  the  right  moment"; 
sometimes  it  was  the  National  Assembly  that 
chimed  in  with:  "Yes,  you  must  wait,  or 
something  will  go  wrong!  " 


266  ®|)c  Uebs  of  tlje  ittibi. 

At  last  one  day  our  pockmarked  Margan 
stood  up  in  the  gallery  of  the  Assembly  and 
shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  all  the  deputies  as  he 
cried  out:  "You  are  all  afraid.  You  sit  there 
shaking  like  reeds.  You  always  are  fearful  that 
something  will  or  won't  happen.  And  while 
you  talk,  we  wait — we  the  Patriots,  the  Reds  of 
the  Midi  who  have  tramped  through  the  heat 
of  the  sun  and  the  chill  of  the  night  our  two 
hundred  leagues;  we  to  whom  you  have  not 
allowed  even  enough  mouldy  bread  to  keep 
our  bellies  from  crying  hunger!  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  we  think  of  you  ?  We  think  you 
are  cowards!  All  we  fear  is  your  fear!  Our 
only  dread  is  that  if  we  wait  for  you  to  start 
the  Revolution  there  never  will  be  any  Revolu- 
tion at  all! " 

But  Margan's  speech  did  no  good;  and  we 
of  the  Battalion  were  wearied  and  over  wearied 
by  our  waiting  for  the  signal  to  start.  And  as 
we  lost  heart  the  Aristocrats  gained  heart. 
They  saw  that  nothing  happened,  and  they 
began  to  pluck  up  their  courage  once  more. 
The  time-serving  shop-keepers,  the  money- 
makers, painted  fleurs-de-lys  on  their  signs, 
and  stuck  up  for  mottoes  over  their  doors  "A 
fig  for  the  Nation!"  or  "Vive  la  Reine!"  or 
"Vive  le  Roi!"  And  all  this  while  swords 


Jn  ttye  Strange  NOD  ®imes.         267 

and  guns  and  pistols,  with  plenty  of  balls  and 
powder,  were  carried  into  the  King's  Castle 
by  the  Royalist  dogs  who  freely  went  and 
came — while  we  were  stuck  fast  like  so  many 
posts  planted  in  the  ground!. 

That  sort  of  thing  could  not  be  allowed  to 
go  on.  We  raised  our  voices  so  loud  that  at 
last  we  made  ourselves  heard.  We  swore 
that  if  the  others  held  back,  and  if  leaders 
were  denied  to  us,  we  would  march  without 
leaders  on  the  King's  Castle  and  would  take  it 
alone.  Then  Barbaroux  and  Danton  came  to 
our  help.  They  talked  with  the  Federals  from 
Brest,  and  with  the  true  Patriots,  the  true  Revo- 
lutionists, of  the  National  Guard;  and  among 
them  they  arranged  that  our  quarters  should  be 
shifted  across  the  river  to  the  building  that  had 
been  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers — where  the 
Patriot  Club  used  to  meet — because  from  there 
we  could  march  on  the  Castle  easily.  Danton 
himself  came  to  lead  us  to  our  new  barracks, 
and  as  he  served  out  cartridges  to  us  he 
shouted:  "Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity — or 
Death !  " 

At  the  Cordeliers  we  found  Barbaroux  wait- 
ing for  us,  and  he  made  us  a  speech  that  set 
all  our  hearts  to  beating  with  joy.  "To-mor- 
row," he  cried,  "the  fight  that  you  have  been 


268  (Elie  Eebs  of  ti)*  ittiM. 


longing  for  shall  be  fought.  In  spite  of  all 
Paris;  in  spite  of  the  National  Assembly;  in 
spite  of  Petion  (of  that  Petion  who  boasted 
that  he  would  march  you  out  of  the  city  in  no 
time  if  the  Assembly  would  but  make  him  a 
grant  of  seven  thousand  crowns)  ;  in  spite  of 
them  all,  I  say,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  gods  in 
heaven  and  all  the  devils  in  hell,  the  tocsin 
shall  ring  to-morrow  night  —  and  by  the  morn- 
ing we  all  will  be  dead  or  the  King's  Castle 
will  be  ours!  " 

That  time  there  was  no  trickery.  The  next 
day  all  Paris  was  in  a  ferment  —  while  we  worked 
on  at  the  guillotines.  We  knew  that  we  should 
not  be  wanted  before  evening,  and  the  last  of 
the  fourteen  was  almost  done.  Early  in  the 
afternoon  we  finished  it  and  threw  down  our 
planes. 

"All  they  need  now,"  said  Planchot,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  "  is  the  razor  of  Equality.  But 
that  is  another  man's  affair.  'Tis  no  part  of  a 
carpenter's  business  to  shave!  " 

That  last  day's  work  was  the  hardest  of 
all.  Everybody  knew  that  there  was  thunder 
in  the  air.  From  early  morning  the  streets 
had  been  crowded:  heavy  covered  wagons 
trundled  along  mysteriously;  the  King's 
mounted  gendarmes  clattered  hither  and  thither 


Jfn  tl)e  Strange  Neto  9Times.         269 

at  a  gallop;  in  all  the  quarters  the  drummers 
were  beating  the  assembly  on  a  hundred 
drums. 

Lazuli  and  Adeline  understood  that  at 
last  the  fight  was  coming  in  earnest.  They 
spoke  little.  Without  asking  for  orders  they 
loaded  our  pistols,  and  then  they  turned  to 
Father  Planchot's  grind-stone  and  fell  to  sharp- 
ening our  swords.  But  when  the  time  came 
for  leaving  them  they  fairly  broke  down.  Oh, 
how  they  cried,  and  how  they  begged  us  to 
take  care  of  ourselves  and  of  each  other! 

"You  needn't  either  of  you  be  in  the  very 
first  rank." 

"If  you  should  get  the  smallest  hurt,  come 
right  back  home." 

"  Vauclair,  listen.  Take  good  care  of  Pas- 
calet;  and  you,  Pascalet,  don't  leave  Vauclair's 
side." 

And  then  more  kisses  and  more  tears.  At 
the  last  Adeline  said  to  me:  "If  you  see  my 
brother  or  my  father,  promise  me  that  you 
will  not  hurt  them."  And  I,  carried  away  by 
her  kisses,  answered :  "  I  will  not.  I  give  you 
my  word!  " 

While  we  were  in  the  thick  of  our  good- 
byes Planchot  had  left  us  and  had  gone  up 
stairs  to  his  bed-room.  Suddenly  he  appeared 


270  (Elie  fteb0  of  tfye  ittibi. 

among  us  again,  dressed  in  his  uniform  of  the 
Paris  National  Guard — and  a  great-looking  ob- 
ject he  was!  He  was  a  little  bit  of  a  man, 
with  a  hooked  nose  like  an  owl's  beak,  a 
pointed  chin,  and  not  a  tooth  in  his  head. 
Like  all  old  carpenters,  his  right  shoulder  was 
higher  than  his  left.  What  with  his  cocked 
hat  too  big  for  him,  his  coat  too  long  for  him, 
and  his  spindle  legs,  he  was  a  regular  Punch! 

Janetoun  came  clattering  down  the  stairs 
after  him  and  burst  into  the  room  at  his  heels 
crying:  "Thou  shalt  not  go!  I  say  thou  shalt 
not  go!  They  can  get  along  without  thee — 
thou  art  too  old  to  fight.  Leave  fighting  to 
the  young  folks.  Thou  wilt  be  killed  by  every- 
body! The  very  horses  will  trample  thee 
down!  Tell  him,  Vauclair,  to  stay  at  home. 
He  only  will  be  in  your  way.  Why,  his 
sword  is  longer  than  he  is — he  can't  draw  it 
out  of  the  scabbard!  Listen  to  reason,  my 
own  Planchot;  listen  to  reason,  and  stay  here 
with  me! " 

But  Planchot  wouldn't  listen  to  reason; 
and  he  answered  her  in  French,  speaking  with 
his  strong  Southern  accent:  "  La  revoluchion,  il 
nous  appelle,  nous  vaincrons  ou  nous  mour- 
rissons!"  ("The  Revolution  calls  us.  We 
conquer  or  die! ") 


In  ll)e  Strange  Neto  (Slimes.         271 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  said  Janetoun; 
"but  what  am  I  to  do  if  you  have  an  arm  cut 
off  or  a  leg  shot  to  pieces  ?  " 

"La  libarte  ou  la  mort!  Passe-moi  mon 
ache  que  z'ai  'aguisee  pour  tranca  lou  cou  du 
tyran!"  ("Liberty  or  Death!  Give  me  my 
axe.  I  have  sharpened  it  so  as  to  cut  off  the 
tyrant's  head! ") 

Janetoun  had  lived  a  good  while  in  the 
world  and  she  knew  there  was  more  than  one 
way  of  catching  martins.  When  she  found 
that  talking  to  her  man  did  no  good  she  tried 
another  tack — all  of  a  sudden  giving  an  awful 
scream  and  striking  her  hands  together  and 
going  down  on  a  heap  of  shavings  in  a  bunch. 

Planchot  stopped  talking  bad  French  and 
shouted  in  honest  Proven9al:  "Heavens  and 
earth,  my  wife  has  fainted!  Quick,  get  the 
vinegar! " 

Lazuli  and  Adeline  rushed  up  stairs  for  the 
vinegar  and  orange-flower  water,  and  the  mo- 
ment they  were  gone  Vauclair  and  I  nodded 
to  each  other — and  off  we  went  without  more 
ado. 

Once  in  the  street  we  had  no  chance  to 

think  of  those  we  had  left  behind  us.     In  an 

instant  we  were  in  the  thick   of  a   pushing, 

crushing  crowd.     We  got  ahead  as  we  could, 

19 


272  $l)e  ftebe  of  tlje  iftiM. 


often  being  forced  back  two  steps  for  one  step 
that  we  had  gained  —  as  a  squadron  of  gen- 
darmes crushed  their  way  through  the  press,  or 
a  band  of  Aristocrats  came  along  roaring: 
"Death  to  the  brigands!"  or  a  company  of 
Patriots  crying:  "Vive  la  Nation!"  Some 
carried  red  flags,  some  black  ;  we  even  saw  a 
bullock's  heart,  all  bleeding,  carried  high  on 
the  point  of  a  pike.  Women  with  their  hair 
hanging  loose  over  their  shoulders  were  pushing 
this  way  and  that,  while  above  their  heads 
they  waved  their  bare  arms.  Barefooted  men 
were  strutting  along  brandishing  rusty  pikes 
and  nicked  swords  and  crazy  old  guns.  Even 
the  children  were  flourishing  everything  they 
could  lay  hands  on  that  looked  like  a  weapon. 
And  from  all  the  Patriot  throats  would  come 
storming  forth  from  time  to  time  the  Patriot 
song: 

Dansons  la  Carmagnole,  Dance  we  the  Carmagnole! 

Vive  le  son,  vive  le  son,        Hurrah  for  the  roar!    Hurrah 

for  the  roar! 

Dansons  la  Carmagnole,  Dance  we  the  Carmagnole! 

Vive  le  son  du  canon!  Hurrah  for  the  roar  the  can- 

non roar! 

As  we  worked  our  way  along  toward  the 
King's  Castle  there  went  by  a  company  of 
Royalist  regulars  —  all  pomaded  and  be-pow- 


Sn  ll)e  Strange  Netu  ®ime0.         273 

dered  and  be-curled,  wearing  silk  stockings 
with  buckled  garters,  and  with  swords  and 
pistols  all  bright  and  shining  in  the  sun.  They 
carried  a  banner  of  blue  and  white,  the  King's 
colours,  on  which  was  written:  "Hurrah  for 
the  Austrian  and  Prussian  armies  who  will  en- 
ter Paris  victorious!  ";  and  as  they  marched  on 
toward  the  Castle  they  sang  the  Anti-Patriot 
version  of  our  ' '  £a  ira  " : 

Ah!  fa  ira!  fa  ira!  Oh,  all  goes  well!  Oh,  all 

goes  well! 

De  mal  en  bien  tout  change  From  bad  to  good  all  France 
en  France!  doth  turn! 

Ah!  fa  ira!  fa  ira!  Oh,  all  goes  well!  Oh,  all 

goes  well ! 

Car  c'est  Louis  qui  regnera.       For  Louis  will  reign  over  us 

Antoinette  Ton  cherira,  And  Antoinette  will  cher- 

ished be 

Et  les  Jacobins  Ton  pendra!  While  the  Jacobins  shall 

hang! 

As  the  singing  soldiers  passed  on  toward 
the  Castle  the  sun  was  setting — down  the  line 
of  the  Seine — in  a  burning  blood-red  glow. 
From  close  to  us  down  far  away  to  where 
clouds  and  earth  came  together,  everything 
touched  by  the  sunrays — spires,  domes,  the 
tall  houses  and  the  walls  of  the  Castle — was 
blood-red.  The  river  seemed  running  with 
flaming  blood— that  looked  still  redder  and 


274  ®l)e  ftebs  of  ll)e 


brighter  because  of  the  piers  and  arches  of  the 
bridges  which  made  black  splotches  against 
its  crimson  glow. 

We  stopped  for  a  moment  to  look  at  this 
strange  sight;  and  as  we  went  on  again  Vau- 
clair  said,  very  seriously:  "That  means  that 
there  will  be  a  great  killing  of  men  !  " 

It  was  almost  dark  when  we  got  back  to 
our  barracks  in  the  Cordeliers;  and  there  we 
found  Barbaroux  and  Danton  and  Rebecqui 
talking  away  —  while  they  strode  backwards 
and  forwards  in  the  courtyard  —  to  a  group  of 
Federals  who  evidently  had  been  saying  that 
they  dreaded  more  of  Santerre's  tricks  and  de- 
lays. 

"I  tell  you,"  cried  Barbaroux,  "that  this 
time  Santerre  surely  will  come  —  or  his  days  of 
coming  and  going  on  this  earth  surely  will 
end.  Look  here!  "  (as  he  spoke  he  unbuttoned 
his  coat  and  threw  it  open)  "Look  here!  You 
always  have  seen  two  pistols  stuck  in  my  sash. 
Now  there  are  none.  And  this  is  what  has 
gone  with  them.  I  gave  one  of  them  to  a  Pa- 
triot whom  I  can  trust  as  I  trust  myself,  and  I 
said  to  him  :  '  You  know  Mandat,  the  Comman- 
dant-General of  the  National  Guard  of  Paris  ? 
Well,  follow  him  by  day  and  by  night  —  and  if 
he  dares  to  turn  his  men  against  the  troops  of 


In  ttye  Strange  Nero  dimes.        275 

the  Revolution  take  this  pistol  and  blow  out  his 
brains.  So  will  you  serve  the  cause  of  our 
country  and  of  Liberty ! '  And  that  good  Pa- 
triot, answering  me,  said:  'I  swear  that  you 
shall  cut  off  my  head  if  I  fail  to  obey  you! ' 

"And  the  other  pistol  I  gave  to  another 
good  Patriot,  and  I  said  to  him:  'You  know 
Commandant  Santerre  !  Well,  follow  him  by 
day  and  by  night — and  when  the  drums  beat 
the  assembly  and  the  tocsin  rings  if  you  do  not 
find  him  at  the  head  of  his  men  coming  to  join 
the  troops  of  the  Revolution  take  this  pistol 
and  blow  out  his  brains.  So  will  you  serve 
well  the  cause  of  our  country  and  of  Liber- 
ty!' And  that  good  Patriot,  answering  me, 
said :  '  I  swear  that  you  shall  cut  off  my  head 
if  I  fail  to  obey  you! ' 

"And  so,  you  see,"  Barbaroux  went  on, 
"  those  two  are  provided  for.  One  other  man  is 
left  who  may  play  us  false,  and  that  is  Petion, 
the  Mayor  of  Paris.  But  he  also  is  provided 
for.  At  this  moment  fifty  tried  and  faithful 
Jacobins  have  Petion  shut  up  in  the  Hotel  de 
Ville;  and  they  will  neither  let  him  go  out  nor 
let  him  speak  to  any  one  until  the  Castle  is 
taken  and  the  King  and  Queen  are  our  pris- 
oners." 

Before   Barbaroux   had    finished,    Margan, 


276  (Efye  ftebg  of  ttye  ittibi. 

gun  in  hand,  jumped  up  on  the  table  beside 
him  and  shouted :  "What  do  we  care  whether 
or  not  the  Parisians  will  march  ?  When  did 
they  ever  do  anything  for  the  cause  of  Liberty  ? 
For  near  a  fortnight  we've  been  waiting  here 
like  a  pack  of  gaping  idiots.  These  Parisians, 
every  one  of  them,  have  chicken-hearts.  They 
called  for  help ;  they  called  to  us  to  come  up 
and  help  them — and  now  they  are  afraid  of  us ! 
And  they  are  right  to  be  afraid  of  us,  for  we 
will  crush  them  if  they  stand  in  our  way.  We 
are  come  from  Marseilles,  from  Toulon,  from 
Avignon,  from  all  over  the  hot  South,  to  save 
the  Country  and  proclaim  the  Revolution. 
We'll  do  it!  God's  own  thunder  won't  stop 
us!  We'll  march  in  spite  of  Paris!  If  we 
must,  we'll  march  against  Paris! — and  we'll 
rush  to  the  assault  shouting  'Death  or  Lib- 
erty ! ' ' 

"Well  said,  Margan!  Well  said!"  cried 
Samat,  as  he  sprang  up  on  a  table  and  waved 
his  banner  of  The  Rights  of  Man — while  all  of 
us,  shouting  together,  filled  the  courtyard  with 
an  angry  roar. 

Another  Marseillais  made  himself  heard: 
"In  the  National  Assembly,"  he  cried,  "they 
are  all  cowards !  Petion,  this  Mayor  of  Paris, 
is  a  traitor.  It  was  he  who  said,  'Give  me 


In  tl)e  Strange  HKew  ftitnes.         277 

seven  thousand  crowns,  and  I'll  get  rid  of  the 
Marseillais.'  Tell  him  to  come  here  with  his 
seven  thousand  crowns!  Are  we  a  herd  of 
pigs  and  is  he  our  herdsman,  that  he  dare  to 
say  we  are  for  sale  ?  We  must  give  this 
traitor  Parisian  the  lie.  Here  is  my  pistol — and 
I  swear  that  if  the  Marseilles  Battalion  doesn't 
march  to  the  assault  before  day  comes  I,  1  who 
am  speaking  to  you,  will  blow  my  brains  out 
that  1  may  not  die  of  shame!" 

"  He's  right,  the  Patriot's  right!  "  called  out 
one  of  our  men  who  stood  in  a  far  corner  and 
who  hammered  with  his  sword  upon  a  table 
until  he  made  himself  heard.  "He's  right. 
With  us  it  must  be  Death  or  Liberty!  Not  one 
of  us  ever  will  go  back  into  the  South  again 
until  we  have  thrown  down  the  tyrant  and 
brought  Paris  to  reason.  What  are  these 
Parisians,  any  way  ?  When  we  are  off  in  our 
far  provinces  they  look  down  on  us ;  they  cry 
out  at  us  for  dregs  and  starvelings ;  they  sneer 
at  us  because  we  don't  talk  through  our  noses 
with  their  own  duck- quacking  'couin!  couin! 
couin!'  But  now  that  we  are  here,  and  they 
see  us,  they  tremble!  We  must  show  them 
who  we  are  and  what  we  can  do.  So  far, 
they  have  only  barked  from  a  long  way  off. 
If  they  come  nearer,  showing  their  teeth;  if 


278  ®l)e  lebs  of  tl)e  JttiM. 

they  try  to  stop  us  in  our  good  work — then 
will  we  quiet  their  nose-talking  once  and  for 
all!" 

We  all  believed  that  there  was  good  reason 
for  these  bitter  words  against  the  Parisians, 
and  at  each  one  of  them  we  cheered  and 
cheered.  For  the  whisper  had  gone  around 
that  the  National  Assembly  was  trying  to  find 
some  excuse  for  sending  our  Battalion  packing 
out  of  the  Capital ;  and  we  also  had  been  told 
that  the  National  Guard  of  Paris,  instead  of 
joining  us,  would  fight  against  us  in  defence  of 
the  King.  But  Danton,  the  good  Jacobin, 
knew  better;  and  presently  he  was  up  again 
on  a  table  and  making  a  speech  to  us  in  which 
the  whole  matter  was  set  right  and  clear.  Ah, 
he  was  a  man!  He  spoke  French,  and  we 
couldn't  understand  all  his  words;  but  we 
understood  all  his  thought. 

He  began  by  telling  us,  shortly,  that  who- 
ever said  all  the  Parisians  would  be  against  us 
lied ;  and  then  he  told  us  very  clearly  and  care- 
fully how  the  attack  on  the  King's  Castle  was 
to  be  made.  The  battalions  of  the  Faubourg 
de  Gloire,  he  said,  were  to  march  to  the  Place 
du  Carrousel  (as  they  called  the  open  space  in 
front  of  the  Castle)  by  way  of  the  Place  de  la 
Greve  and  the  Arcade  Saint-Jean;  the  bat- 


Jfn  tlje  Strange  New  STimes.         279 

talions  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau  were  to 
come  up  to  the  Horse  Market,  and  from  there 
were  to  follow  the  river  and  cross  it  by  the 
Pont-Neuf;  and  we,  the  Marseillais,  with  the 
Federals  from  Brest  and  the  students  from  the 
schools,  were  to  cross  the  river  by  the  Pont- 
Saint-Michel  and  enter  the  Place  du  Carrousel 
through  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre.  It  was  a 
plan,  he  said,  that  had  been  carefully  thought 
out  and  that  promised  well;  and  all  the  forces 
pledged  to  take  part  in  it  could  be  trusted  to 
the  death.  For  the  signal  of  attack,  he  said 
finally,  an  alarm-cannon  would  be  fired  on  the 
Pont-Neuf  and  the  tocsin  would  ring  from  all 
the  church  towers — and  then  the  good  fight 
would  begin ! 

Our  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  we  listened  to 
him,  and  while  those  who  were  nearest  to  him 
embraced  his  knees  we  all  cried  together: 
"  God  grant  that  your  good  words  be  true!  " 

The  night  had  run  onward  while  all  this 
talk  went  on.  It  was  late — within  an  hour  of 
midnight.  We  remembered  that  we  were 
hungry,  and  fell  to  eating  our  rations  of  garlic 
and  dry  bread.  Suddenly  a  shot  was  fired  in 
the  street  almost  at  the  door  of  our  barracks. 
In  an  instant  we  had  seized  our  arms  and  were 
filing  out  in  line.  Our  Commandant  and  Bar- 


280  ®l)e  ftebs  of  tt)e  ittibi. 

baroux  and  Danton  tried  to  hold  us  back.  The 
drums  had  not  yet  beaten  the  assembly,  the 
time  to  march  had  not  yet  come,  they  shouted 
— but  our  own  drummers  already  were  beating 
the  quick-step,  and  in  spite  of  all  they  could 
say  we  were  off.  Feeling  our  cartridges,  to 
make  sure  that  they  were  in  order,  away  we 
went  through  the  dark  streets  as  silently  as  a 
flock  of  sheep ;  keeping  time  with  our  footsteps 
to  the  quick  rattle  of  our  drums. 

My  mouth  was  dry.  I  chewed  and  chewed 
away  at  a  bit  of  bread,  but  could  no  more 
swallow  it  than  if  my  throat  had  been  held 
close  by  an  iron  band.  1  was  all  of  a  tremble, 
just  as  if  I  had  a  fever;  and  I  was  shaking 
with  an  excitement  I  could  not  understand. 
It  was  about  midnight  when  we  came  out  of 
the  tangle  of  narrow  streets  through  which  we 
had  been  marching  upon  the  wide  way  beside 
the  river.  The  weather  was  soft  and  warm ; 
the  stars  shone  brightly  in  a  clear  sky;  on  the 
bridges  and  along  both  banks  of  the  river  rows 
of  lanterns  were  swinging  in  the  wind. 

But  there  beside  the  quiet  river  we  struck 
upon  such  a  tremendous  crowd  and  such  a 
whirl  of  confusion  that  it  seemed  as  though 
we  had  got  to  the  very  end  of  the  world.  All 
the  bridges  were  held  by  Anti-Patriot  soldiery. 


In  tlje  Strange  Neto  Cintes.         281 

Mounted  gendarmes  were  galloping  backwards 
and  forwards,  making  the  crowd  cry  out  and 
reel  and  surge  in  angry  waves.  In  one  mo- 
ment we  would  hear  a  bugle-call,  in  the  next 
the  roll  of  drums.  From  the  other  side  of  the 
river  came  the  clatter  of  troops  of  horse  and 
the  rumbling  of  gun-carriages.  Everywhere 
there  was  a  dull  roar  made  up  of  the  shoutings 
of  thousands  and  thousands  of  voices,  with 
now  and  then  a  clear  cry  rising  sharply  of 
"Vive  la  Nation!  "or  "Vive  le  Roi!"  And 
all  the  while  that  we  were  pushing  our  way 
slowly  through  the  crowd  we  could  see  loom- 
ing high  before  us — rising  up  like  the  crags  of 
the  Luberon — the  black  mass  of  the  King's 
Castle  outlined  against  the  sky. 

Our  orders  were  to  cross  by  the  Pont-Saint- 
Michel;  but  our  leading  files  halted  as  they 
came  to  the  bridge  and  our  drums  stopped 
beating.  We  all  pushed  and  crowded  to 
the  front  to  see  what  was  the  matter;  and 
we  found  that  Commandant  Moisson  had 
gone  forward  alone  and  was  talking  with 
the  commander  of  the  detachment  of  Anti- 
Patriots  by  whom  the  bridge  was  held.  Pres- 
ently he  came  back  to  us,  saying  that  the  guard 
on  the  bridge  had  orders  to  let  no  one  pass — a 
piece  of  news  that  set  us  to  stamping  with 


282  ®l)e  &ebs  of  tl)C  Jttibi. 

anger,  until  the  good  thought  occurred  to  us 
to  bring  up  our  cannon  and  clear  a  passage 
with  a  dose  of  grape. 

"Steady,  men!"  called  out  our  Comman- 
dant. "Steady!  We  mustn't  spoil  things  by 
going  too  fast.  We  have  our  orders,  and  we 
must  obey  them.  Not  a  shot  must  be  fired 
until  the  alarm-cannon  gives  the  signal  that 
the  work  is  to  begin." 

"  And  where  is  this  alarm-cannon  ?"  asked 
Margan;  who  hardly  could  speak  plainly,  he 
was  in  such  a  towering  rage. 

"It's  on  the  Pont-Neuf,"  answered  our 
Commandant;  "and  the  bad  luck  is  that  it  is 
in  the  hands  of  the  Anti-Patriots." 

"If  that's  all,"  said  Margan,  "I'll  start  the 
attack  in  no  time.  Anti-Patriots  or  no  Anti- 
Patriots,  I'll  fire  that  gun!  " 

"Silence!"  cried  the  Commandant. 
"Trust  yourselves  to  me,  men.  I  promise 
you  that  we'll  cross  at  the  hour  settled  on,  and 
that  you  shall  be  in  the  tyrant's  house  ahead  of 
them  all." 

But  no  silence  followed  the  Commandant's 
order.  Everybody  fell  to  chattering  about 
what  ought  to  be  done  or  not  done.  The 
whole  Battalion  was  talking  at  once. 

It  was  in  the  thick  of  all  this  palaver  that 


In  ttye  Strange  Nero  (Eimes.         283 

Margan  and  Sergeant  Peloux  and  I  broke  from 
the  ranks  and  went  out  upon  the  bridge  to 
where  the  first  line  of  the  National  Guards 
barred  the  way. 

Here  Pascal  stood  up,  slapped  Lou  Materoun 
on  the  shoulder,  and  said:  "See  here,  it  won't 
do  to  have  last  night's  nonsense  over  again. 
My  brother  Lange  says  he  won't  come  for  me 
again.  He  says  that  if  I  won't  come  home  in 
good  time  of  my  own  accord  he'll  bolt  me  out. 
And  1  know  the  stuff  Lange  is  made  of — he'll 
do  what  he  says!  " 

After  that  there  was  nothing  to  wait  for  and 
we  all  got  up  too.  I  rose  more  slowly  than 
the  rest,  for  the  cat  was  asleep  on  my  lap  and 
I  did  not  want  to  wake  her.  I  laid  her  down 
on  my  little  bench  so  gently  that  she  only  half 
opened  her  eyes  and  gave  a  drowsy  gurgling 
purr,  and  instantly  went  off  to  sleep  again. 
By  way  of  good  night,  I  ran  my  hand  softly 
over  her  soft  fur;  and  then,  holding  fast  to 
my  grandfather's  breeches,  I  too  went  off  to 
bed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   STORMING   OF  THE    KING'S   CASTLE. 

ALL  night  long  I  dreamed  of  that  famous 
alarm-cannon  which  Margan  had  declared  he 
would  fire  off.  The  next  day  I  saw  old  Pascal 
sitting  on  the  block  in  front  of  his  mule's 
stable.  I  was  playing  at  marbles  with  oak- 
galls,  all  by  myself,  and  I  rolled  them  nearer 
and  nearer  to  him  while  I  tried  to  bring  up  my 
courage  to  the  point  of  asking  him  just  one 
question:  "Did  they  fire  it  off?"  But  my 
courage  would  not  rise  so  high.  I  even  sent 
an  oak-gall  in  between  his  feet;  in  the  hope 
that  he  would  speak  to  me  as  I  was  getting  it, 
and  so  would  give  me  a  chance  to  ask  that 
question  that  was  burning  the  tip  of  my 
tongue.  I  don't  think  that  he  even  saw  me. 
He  certainly  took  no  notice  of  me.  Perhaps 
his  spirit  was  wandering  over  the  sands  of 
Egypt,  or  dreaming  under  a  pomegranate  tree 
in  Spain. 

Night  came  at  last,  supper  was  over,  the 

284 


Storming  of  tl)c  King's  (Hustle.  285 


lantern  was  lighted,  and  I  already  had  my  hand 
on  the  door-latch.  But  my  grandfather,  instead 
of  following  me,  went  down  into  the  cellar  by 
the  other  door.  Presently  he  came  up  again 
carrying  a  big  bottle,  holding  nearly  a  gallon, 
of  rich-coloured  malmsey.  "This  is  Saint 
Martin's  Eve,"  said  he.  "  The  neighbours  will 
enjoy  a  good  cordial  with  their  Saint  Martin's 
chestnut  feast." 

A  blind  man  would  have  known  that  it 
was  Saint  Martin's  Eve.  From  every  house 
came  the  appetizing  savour  of  roasting  chest- 
nuts and  the  sharp  sweet  smell  of  the  blazing 
faggots  of  thyme;  and  above  the  hum  of  the 
spinning-wheels  we  heard  the  rattling  of  the 
chestnuts  in  the  roasting-pans  and  the  laugh- 
ing shrieks  of  the  girls  as  the  corks  popped 
and  burst  forth  from  the  bottles  of  new  wine  — 
just  brought  up  from  the  cellars  to  be  drunk  in 
honour  of  the  good  Saint  Martin  :  the  patron 
saint  of  all  honest  lovers  of  a  bottle  and  a  glass. 

As  we  entered  the  shoemaker's  shop  La 
Mie  called  from  the  depths  of  the  kitchen: 
"Oh,  Pascal,  do  wait  a  minute.  The  chest- 
nuts are  almost  done,"  and  as  she  spoke  we 
heard  the  last  of  them  going  off  with  sharp 
pops  in  the  pan. 

"Don't  get  excited,  La  Mie  —  it's  bad  for 


286  ®lje  ttcbs  of  tlje  iflibi. 

the  blood.  I'll  wait  for  you,"  Pascal  an- 
swered. 

In  five  minutes  she  came  in  with  a  huge 
platter  of  roasted  chestnuts — covered  snugly 
with  a  sack  folded  four-double  so  that  they 
would  be  well  steamed — and  when  she  had 
set  it  on  the  stove,  and  had  placed  glasses  be- 
side my  grandfather's  bottle  on  the  dresser,  all 
was  ready  for  Saint  Martin's  feast. 

But  we  still  had  to  wait  a  little  for  the 
story.  Just  as  La  Mie  had  seated  herself  Lou 
Materoun  said  to  her:  "I  don't  want  to  order 
you  about,  La  Mie,  but  I  wish  you'd  get  me  a 
straw  from  your  broom  to  clean  out  my  pipe- 
stem." 

"Confound  you!"  exclaimed  La  Mie, 
crossly,  as  she  jumped  up  to  go  and  get  the 
straw.  "  Haven't  you  any  broom  in  your  own 
house  ?  " 

"  It's  not  every  house,"  Lou  Materoun  an- 
swered, "that's  as  well  furnished  as  this  one 
— where  there's  not  only  a  broom  but  also  a 
mop  ! "  * 

"You  beast  of  a  chatterbox!"  cried  La 
Mie,  plumping  back  into  her  seat.  "Find  a 

*  T'anoucbo  means  a  cleaning-rag  fastened  in  a  handle, 
and  it  also  means'  a  slut,  a  dirty  woman. 


QLtye  Storming  of  ttje  King's  OTastlc.  287 

straw  for  yourself— you  shall  have  none  of 
mine! " 

"No  matter — my  pipe  has  cleaned  it- 
self." 

"Mops  indeed!"  she  repeated.  "Every 
one  knows  that  you  mop  up  your  floor  by 
dragging  your  wife  around  by  her  hair! " 

"I  do  the  best  I  can,  La  Mie.  I'm  not  a 
shoemaker — I  haven't  a  leather  strap." 

"Oh,  hold  your  tongue,  Lou  Materoun!" 
said  my  grandfather.  "  We're  not  here  to  lis- 
ten to  your  clapper  clawing.  We  are  here  for 
Pascal's  story." 

"Yes,  Lou  Materoun,"  said  old  Pascal, 
"  you  seem  to  be  working  up  a  little  sour — like 
wine  that  is  going  wrong.  You'd  better  keep 
still  for  a  while  and  let  yourself  settle." 

And  so,  order  having  been  restored,  old 
Pascal  settled  himself  on  the  bench  and  went 
on. 

Well,  as  I  told  you  yesterday,  Margan  and 
Peloux  and  I  broke  from  our  ranks  and  went 
out  on  the  bridge  to  where  the  National  Guards 
barred  the  way.  Margan  knew  French,  and 
by  drawing  his  nose  together  and  speaking 
through  it  he  could  talk  just  like  a  Parisian ; 
we  being  close  behind  him,  he  fell  to  talking 

20 


288  ®l)e  ftebs  of  tlje  iflibi. 

away  with  three  men  who  stood  a  little  in  ad- 
vance of  the  enemy's  line. 

But  he  found  in  no  time  that  they  were  not 
enemies  at  all.  They  were  good  friends  of 
the  Nation,  and  they  wanted  as  much  as  any- 
body to  make  the  Revolution  a  success.  Then 
Margan  saw  his  way  to  what  he  wanted 
(though  that  was  more  than  we  did)  and  said 
to  them:  "  Since  you  are  good  Patriots,  show 
it  by  doing  what  I  ask.  Lend  us  your  cocked- 
hats  and  do  you  take  in  place  of  them  our  red 
caps.  It  will  be  only  for  five  minutes — while 
we  go  up  to  the  Pont-Neuf  and  come  back 
again.  But  in  that  five  minutes  the  Nation 
will  be  saved!  " 

They  were  good  fellows,  those  Parisians. 
Without  stopping  to  ask  questions  they  did 
what  Margan  wanted,  and  in  the  darkness — 
that  they  might  not  be  questioned  by  their 
companions  —  they  drew  away  toward  our 
ranks. 

Margan  did  not  keep  us  waiting  long  to 
find  out  what  he  was  driving  at.  In  a  low 
voice,  but  dead  in  earnest,  he  said  to  us:  "If 
you  are  good  Federals,  good  Reds  of  the  Midi, 
you  will  put  on  those  hats  and  follow  me.  We 
are  going  to  the  Pont-Neuf  and  we'll  leave  our 
skins  there  or  we'll  fire  that  gun!  Do  you, 


®lje  Storming  of  tlje  King's  <Eo0tle.  289 

Peloux,  get  ready  a  good  fuse  that  will  burn 
well;  and  do  you,  Pascalet,  get  flint  and  steel 
that  you  may  light  it  when  the  moment  comes. 
I  will  tackle  the  officer  in  command  on  the 
bridge,  and  while  I  keep  him  in  talk  you  must 
manage  between  you  to  touch  off  the  cannon 
and  give  the  alarm." 

Then  we  understood,  and  we  were  ready 
to  jump  for  joy!  Peloux  got  out  a  good  fuse 
— and  with  it,  in  case  the  cannon  should  need 
priming,  a  handful  of  powder — and  turned 
over  to  me  his  flint  and  steel;  and  off  we 
started  through  the  darkness  and  the  crowd. 
In  five  minutes  we  had  reached  the  Pont-Neuf, 
where  we  were  halted  with  a  sharp  "Qui 
vive  ?  " 

"  Friends,"  Margan  answered.  "  An  order 
from  the  Commandant  of  the  Pont-Saint- 
Michel." 

"  Pass!  " — and  we  were  on  the  Pont-Neuf, 
walking  along  between  two  files  of  the  Anti- 
Patriot  guard.  But  we  were  safe  enough 
under  our  blue-plumed  cocked-hats.  They 
took  no  notice  of  us — and  in  a  moment  we 
had  come  to  the  middle  of  the  bridge  and 
were  close  to  the  gun.  It  was  trained  toward 
the  river,  and  standing  around  it  were  the  four 
men  of  its  crew. 


290  ®l)e  Uebs  of  tlje  4JUbi. 

"Attention!"  cried  Margan,  as  though  he 
had  commanded  gunners  all  his  life;  and  as 
the  men  stepped  forward — no  doubt  thinking 
he  was  an  officer  with  orders — he  pulled  a 
paper  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  it  slowly  in 
the  dull  light  that  came  from  the  bridge  lamp, 
and  held  it  up  as  if  he  were  going  to  read. 

Peloux  and  I  did  not  lose  an  instant.  As 
the  gunners  came  forward,  we  slipped  into 
their  places;  while  Margan  got  out  his  paper, 
Peloux  made  sure  of  the  priming  and  I  struck 
my  flint  and  steel  together  and  the  flying  sparks 
lighted  the  fuse;  and  just  as  Margan  held  up 
the  paper,  as  though  to  read  it,  we  got  the 
burning  fuse  to  the  touch-hole,  and — Bang! 

That  gun-shot — only  a  blank  cartridge,  that 
did  not  even  ripple  the  quiet-flowing  river  over 
which  it  roared — shook  the  world:  for  it 
knocked  to  pieces  the  throne  of  France! 

Before  even  its  echo  came  back  from  the 
walls  of  the  King's  Castle,  every  belfry  in  Paris 
was  ringing  out  the  tocsin  of  the  Revolution. 
Our  own  drums — joining  with  a  hundred  other 
drums — began  to  beat  over  on  the  Pont-Saint- 
Michel.  We  heard  their  lively  sharp  rattle  in 
the  same  quick-step  that  so  often  had  cheered 
and  helped  us  in  our  long  march  northward. 
But  what  brought  tears  to  our  eyes  and  made 


Storming  of  tlje  King's  QTastle.  291 


our  hearts  beat  high  was  hearing  our  brothers 
of  the  Battalion  burst  forth  with  the  "Mar- 
seillaise "  : 

Aliens  enfants  de  la  Patrie,       Onward,     children     of     our 

land! 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive;       Now    the     day     of     glory 

dawns! 
Centre  nous  de  la  tyrannic,       Blood-stained  banners  rise  to 

flout  us 
L'etendart  sanglant  est  leve.     Held  aloft  by  tyrant  hands! 

"  Who  dared  to  fire  the  alarm-gun  ?"  cried 
the  officer  in  command  on  the  bridge,  rushing 
at  us  and  speaking  in  a  voice  hoarse  with 
rage. 

And  instantly  we  three,  Margan  and  Peloux 
and  I,  as  though  we  had  settled  it  all  before- 
hand, had  our  pistols  levelled  at  his  head  and 
were  shouting  "  Vive  la  Nation!  " 

"Vive  la  Nation!"  shouted  the  gunners 
after  us,  for  they  too  were  good  Patriots. 

That  settled  the  Commandant  —  who  went 
white  as  a  sheet  when  he  saw  in  front  of  his 
nose  the  three  muzzles  of  our  pistols,  and  then 
turned  around  and  stammered  out  an  order  to 
his  men.  But  his  men,  who  heard  the  assem- 
bly beating  everywhere,  had  so  lost  their  heads 
that  they  paid  no  attention  to  orders;  and  a 
moment  later  up  came  the  Patriot  battalions 


292  ®l)e  ftebs  of  llje  4JUM. 

from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau  and  took 
possession  of  the  Pont-Neuf  without  striking  a 
blow. 

We  had  done  what  we  came  to  do,  and 
away  we  went  again  to  join  our  fellows  on  the 
Pont-Saint-Michel.  There  we  waited  for  our 
supporting  column,  the  Patriot  troops  from  the 
Faubourg  de  Gloire,  .while  all  around  us  we 
heard  the  call  of  trumpets  and  the  roll  of  drums. 

While  we  stood  there,  chafing  to  go  for- 
ward, a  commotion  of  some  sort — a  tremen- 
dous pushing  and  crushing — began  in  the 
closely  pressed  crowd  over  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Pont-au-Change.  We  heard  cries  and 
roars  without  knowing  what  they  meant — 
until  twenty  or  thirty  Patriots  burst  out  from 
the  crowd  and  came  upon  our  bridge,  drag- 
ging along  a  dead  body  hacked  to  pieces  and 
covered  with  blood.  It  was  the  body  of  the 
Commandant  General,  Mandat.  He  had  no 
more  than  begun  to  issue  the  orders  which 
were  to  stop  the  Patriots  than  the  man  to 
whom  Barbaroux  had  given  the  pistol  stepped 
forward  and  blew  out  his  brains. 

"Liberty  or  Death!"  we  shouted,  and  all 
the  crowd  with  us — and  then  the  traitor's  body 
was  dragged  to  the  middle  of  the  bridge  and 
tumbled  over  into  the  stream.  For  a  moment 


Storming  of  tlje  King's  Castle.  293 


it  whirled  around  'under  the  arches  like  the 
body  of  a  dead  dog,  and  then  it  was  gone. 
From  the  Faubourg  de  Gloire  all  the  way  to 
the  Castle  rose  shouts  of  "Vive  la  Nation!" 
And  all  the  bells,  as  though  they  too  wanted 
to  shout  with  us,  pealed  louder  and  louder  the 
tocsin  of  the  Revolution. 

We  heard  the  rattle  of  drums  advancing 
from  the  Faubourg  de  Gloire,  and  knew  that 
our  support  was  coming  up.  "Forward!'' 
cried  Commandant  Moisson,  and  off  we  started 
to  take  the  lead  —  for  we  were  determined  that 
the  first  to  march  to  the  attack,  and  the  first  to 
step  over  the  threshold  of  the  King's  Castle, 
should  be  the  Reds  of  the  Midi! 

The  street  of  Saint-Honore,  into  which  we 
turned,  was  wild  with  noise  and  confusion. 
Our  two  drums  beat  steadily.  We  sang  the 
'  '  Marseillaise  "  with  all  our  lungs.  The  wheels 
of  our  gun-carriages  and  of  the  forge  clanged 
on  the  pavement.  Behind  us  the  battalions  of 
the  Faubourg  de  Gloire  were  shouting  the 
"  £a  ira  "  to  the  rattle  of  their  fourteen  drums. 
All  together  we  went  on  through  the  quarter 
of  the  Aristocrats  like  a  furious  torrent,  like  a 
mighty  wind. 

Now  and  then  a  high  up  window  would 
be  opened  and  a  shot  fired  down  at  us  —  but 


294  ®t)e  ftebs  of  ll)e  HUM. 

we  laughed  and  marched  on.  "We  can't 
stop  for  pop-gun  work  now,"  cried  long 
Samat,  hoisting  still  higher  his  banner  of  The 
Rights  of  Man;  "We'll  attend  to  them  to- 
morrow," cried  Margan.  "Then  they  shall 
swallow  the  same  sort  of  plum-stones  that 
we'll  give  to  the  tyrant  to-night! " 

As  we  drew  closer  to  the  Castle  the  fire  got 
hotter.  Shots  kept  popping  out  at  us  from 
cellar-windows,  from  balconies,  from  the  roofs. 
But  nothing  stopped  us.  On  we  marched, 
faster  and  faster — and  roaring  louder  and  louder 
the  "  Marseillaise." 

So  we  came  to  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  and 
found  it  full  of  Anti-Patriots:  grenadiers,  pike- 
men,  gendarmes.  But  they  fell  back  as  we 
advanced.  The  gendarmes  broke  in  no  time. 
The  grenadiers  and  pikemen  held  their  ground 
a  little  better;  but  as  we  pressed  upon  them — 
with  our  howling  chorus,  "Tremble,  tyrants! 
And  you,  traitors!" — they  too  gave  way.  In 
a  moment  their  ranks  were  broken  and  they 
were  crowding  back  against  the  iron  gates  of 
the  Castle  court;  and  in  another  moment  the 
gates  were  opened  and  the  whole  pack  of 
them,  gendarmes,  grenadiers,  pikemen,  had 
rushed  pell-mell  inside.  The  Place  du  Car- 
rousel was  ours! 


&l)e  Storming  of  tl)e  King's  Castle.  295 

Our  Battalion  halted,  and  we  formed  our 
lines  in  front  of  the  gate  of  the  Cour  Royale — 
the  gate  that  had  just  banged-to  on  the  backs 
of  the  runaway  soldiers  of  the  King.  We 
were  separated  from  the  Castle  only  by  its 
three  courts — the  Cour  Royale  in  front  of  us, 
the  Cour  des  Princes  to  the  right,  the  Cour  des 
Suisses  to  the  left.  Day  was  breaking,  and 
the  Castle  no  longer  loomed  up  before  us  a 
mere  black  mass.  We  could  see  it  all  plainly; 
and  we  could  see  the  mattresses  piled  in  the 
windows,  with  loop-holes  left  through  which 
the  guards  could  fire  as  we  came  on. 

Our  support  came  up — the  battalions  from 
the  Faubourg  de  Gloire;  the  battalions  from 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau,  wearing  their 
plumes  of  cock's  feathers;  the  Federals  from 
Brest  in  their  red  coats — and  we  greeted  each 
other  with  shouts  of  "Vive  la  Nation!"  that 
rang  in  the  air. 

At  that  instant,  as  our  great  shout  of  Liberty 
went  upward,  the  first  sunrays  of  that  August 
morning  struck  upon  the  highest  walls  of  the 
Castle;  and  we  saw  that  the  sun  was  rising, 
as  he  had  set,  blood-red — as  though  God  him- 
self wished  to  be  with  us  and  had  given  us  a 
sign. 

The  drums  no  longer  were  counted  by  two 


296  &l)e  Uc&0  of  tl)e 


or  by  fourteen.  Two  score  of  them,  a  hun- 
dred of  them,  were  rattling  away  together  the 
pas  de  charge!  No  longer  was  it  hundreds 
but  thousands  and  thousands  of  voices  which 
were  crying  together:  "Death  or  Liberty!'' 
Drums  and  voices  rang  out  so  loud  and  rose 
up  with  such  tremendous  force  that  the  houses 
and  the  very  stones  in  the  streets  were  shaken, 
as  though  an  earthquake  had  come. 

Commandant  Moisson"  went  up  to  the 
great  gate  of  the  Cour  Royale,  and  cried  loudly 
as  he  struck  it  three  times  with  the  pommel  of 
his  sword:  "Open,  in  the  name  of  the  People 
and  of  Liberty  !  " 

But  there  was  no  answer  and  the  door  re- 
mained shut  fast. 

I  was  in  the  front  rank.  The  Commandant 
turned  to  me.  "Pascalet,"  said  he,  "suppose 
there  were  ripe  cherries  on  the  other  side  of 
that  wall.  Couldn't  you  manage  to  get  your 
share  of  them  ?" 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  give  me  an 
order.  I  knew  what  he  wanted  —  and  in  a 
moment  my  gun  was  slung  over  my  shoulder 
and  I  had  begun  to  climb.  In  another  mo- 
ment, going  up  lightly  as  a  cat,  I  was  a-straddle 
of  the  top  of  the  wall.  "What  next,  Com- 
mandant ?  "  I  called  down. 


Storming  0f  tfye  Hing'0  (East!*.  297 


"  Tell  me  what's  going  on  in  there." 

"They're  all  running  away  like  rabbits, 
Commandant.  May  I  --  ?  "  and  I  drew  and 
levelled  my  pistols.  "  I  could  make  a  splendid 
double  shot!  " 

'  '  Don't  fire  !     Don't  fire  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  it's  too  late  now  —  they're  all  safe  in- 
side. The  gendarmes,  the  green  grenadiers,  the 
red  Swiss  —  the  whole  riff-raff  has  got  safe  away. 

"No!  No!  "I  went  on.  "There's  still  one 
left  —  and  I  do  believe  it's  the  King!  Hello, 
Capet,  is  that  you  ?  Pull  up  or  I'll  shoot!  Oh, 
it  must  be  the  King.  Shall  I  fire,  Comman- 
dant ?  Oh,  mayn't  I  fire  ?  " 

"No,  you  may  not,"  answered  the  Com- 
mandant sharply. 

"He's  gone,"  I  said,  lowering  my  pistol. 
"  It's  a  pity  you  didn't  let  me  shoot  him,  Com- 
mandant. He  certainly  was  the  King.  He 
came  out  of  the  little  house  by  the  door,  and  he 
was  splendidly  dressed  in  an  embroidered  coat 
and  velvet  breeches  and  white  silk  stockings, 
and  he  had  silver  buckles  on  his  shining  shoes. 
It  was  the  King  for  sure!  " 

"  Oh  you  little  numskull,"  laughed  the  Com- 
mandant, while  all  the  men  of  the  Battalion 
who  had  heard  me  laughed  too.  "Why,  that 
was  the  porter!  " 


298  ®lie  Eebs  of  tlje  JttiM. 

"Then  I'll  do  his  work  for  him,"  I  cried— 
and  down  I  dropped  into  the  court,  and  in  ten 
seconds  I  had  lifted  away  the  bar  and  drawn 
the  bolts  and  the  gate  was  open  wide.  In 
marched  Commandant  Moisson  and  the  Battal- 
ion after  him — and  the  Reds  of  the  Midi  were 
the  first  to  enter  the  Castle  of  the  King! 

At  that  very  instant — though  we  did  not 
know  it  until  later — the  tyrant  and  his  Austrian 
woman  were  running  for  their  lives  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Castle  through  the  gardens. 
Liberty  came  in  triumphant,  while  Despotism 
slunk  away  like  a  fox  smoked  out  of  its  lair. 

But  we  thought  that  the  King  still  was  in- 
side, and  so  made  our  arrangements  to  hold 
him  fast.  Our  Battalion,  with  the  Brest  Fed- 
erals, occupied  the  Cour  Royale;  the  Cour  des 
Princes  and  the  gardens  were  held  by  the  men 
from  the  Faubourg  de  Gloire;  the  force  from 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau  took  possession  of 
the  Cour  des  Suisses — and  so  we  had  the  Castle 
surrounded  on  all  sides. 

The  King's  soldiers  were  standing  ready 
for  us.  Along  the  whole  front  of  the  Castle  and 
up  the  steps  leading  to  the  main  doorway  was 
a  barricade  of  human  flesh — gendarmes,  grena- 
diers, pikemen — that  we  would  have  to  break 
our  way  through ;  and  in  front  of  this  line  were 


fjtye  Storming  of  tlje  King's  (Eostle.  299 

the  black  muzzles  of  fourteen  cannon.  Inside, 
the  red-coated  Swiss  filled  the  hall  and  the 
stairway ;  and  on  the  balconies  and  at  the  win- 
dows and  on  the  terraces  of  the  garden  were 
posted  dukes  and  counts  and  marquises,  and 
all  the  small-fry  of  the  nobility  beside.  There 
were  ten  thousand  of  them,  I  suppose,  and  we 
had  to  get  rid  of  them  all ! 

But  at  first  it  looked  as  if  there  would  be 
no  need  for  a  fight.  As  we  entered  the  court 
some  of  the  King's  gunners  shouted  "Vive  la 
Nation!."  and  at  the  same  time  some  of  the 
Swiss  threw  us  their  cartridges  in  proof  that 
they  did  not  mean  to  fire.  Finding  things 
going  so  well,  and  doubting  nothing,  some  of 
us  stooped  to  pick  up  the  cartridges  and  others 
of  us  went  forward  to  press  the  hands  of  the 
men  who  were  showing  themselves  to  be  not 
the  King's  servants  and  our  enemies  but  Patriots 
and  our  friends. 

But  we  were  going  too  fast  in  failing  to 
reckon  with  the  Aristocrats  who  were  looking 
down  at  us  from  their  loop-holes  with  their 
guns  in  their  hands. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  deafening  crash  in 
the  air  above  us — and  from  all  the  windows 
poured  down  upon  us  a  hail  of  balls.  At  that 
first  volley  Commandant  Moisson  fell  with  both 


300  ®|)e  Ecfcs  of  tlje  ittiM. 

legs  shattered,  and  seven  of  our  men  dead  and 
twenty  wounded  were  lying  on  the  ground. 

Our  line  fell  back — but  only  a  few  steps  and 
only  for  a  moment.  Our  Commandant,  des- 
perately wounded  though  he  was,  rallied  us. 
Raising  himself  on  his  arms  he  shouted  "Vive 
la  Nation!" — and  at  those  words  our  lines 
steadied,  the  muzzles  of  our  guns  went  down 
as  smooth  and  even  as  a  wind-pressed  fence 
of  canes,  and  at  the  command  "  Fire!  "  we  be- 
gan to  pour  in  upon  the  traitors  in  the  Castle 
a  steady  rain  of  balls.  Before  our  fire  gen- 
darmes and  grenadiers  and  pikemen  went 
down  in  heaps,  blood  spirting  from  their 
wounds  like  wine  from  a  cask.  Horses  fell 
dead  or  reared  and  plunged  in  the  terror  caused 
by  their  hurts;  and  bits  of  stone  and  plaster 
came  rattling  down  from  the  walls. 

But  we  also  were  getting  it.  Balls  whistled 
all  around  us  and  among  us — coming  from 
windows  and  roofs  and  balconies,  from  every- 
where all  at  once!  The  spat!  spat!  as  they 
struck  the  ground  was  all  around  me — with 
that  queer  softer  sound  that  a  bullet  makes 
when  it  breaks  in  upon  human  flesh  and  bone. 
I  was  in  mortal  terror,  and  I  said  to  myself: 
"Oh,  oh,  oh,  poor  Pascalet!  If  you  don't 
die  to-day  you'll  never  die  at  all! " 


€l)e  Storming  of  tl)e  fling's  Ctastle.  301 

Right  beside  me,  Samat  was  struck  between 
the  eyes  by  a  ball  which  blew  his  head  open. 
He  fell  upon  me,  still  holding  his  banner  of 
The  Rights  of  Man.  In  the  thick  choking 
smoke,  I  did  not  know  what  really  had  hap- 
pened. I  thought  that  I  was  wounded — and  I 
felt  myself  all  over  to  find  where  I  was  hurt. 
But  I  couldn't  find  any  wound;  and  then  I 
made  out  that  the  heavy  weight  upon  my 
breast  was  what  was  left  of  poor  Samat's  head. 
Well,  he  was  dead — and  all  I  could  do  for  him 
was  to  drag  his  body  a  little  away  on  one  side, 
close  to  the  foot  of  a  wall. 

1  set  to  work  with  my  gun  again — though 
the  thick  smoke  so  blinded  me  that  I  could  not 
well  make  out  what  I  was  firing  at — and  fired 
steadily.  At  least  two  thirds  of  our  shots  were 
wasted  against  the  Castle  walls.  The  luck 
was  against  us,  for  the  Royalists  at  the  win- 
dows and  on  the  balconies  could  see  where  to 
aim  and  nearly  every  one  of  their  shots  went 
true — wounding  and  disabling  when  it  did  not 
kill.  And  above  all  the  rattle  and  roar  of  the 
firing,  above  the  clatter  of  the  drums,  keener 
even  than  the  sharp  words  of  command,  I  heard 
the  dreadful  cries,  the  horrible  screams  of  the 
wounded  men.  A  poor  Federal  was  stretched 
out  in  front  of  me,  and  as  I  stepped  over  him 


302  ®|)e  Ueba  of  tlje  iftibi. 

he  caught  me  by  the  leg  and  shrieked:  "  Fin- 
ish me!  Put  an  end  to  me.  I  am  choking 
with  a  coal  of  fire !  " — and  showed  me  a  fright- 
ful wound  where  a  ball  had  crashed  through 
him  from  breast  to  side.  But  I  could  not  kill 
him,  and  I  pulled  myself  away  from  his  grasp. 
I  was  ramming  down  a  fresh  load  into  my 
piece  when  there  came  an  eddy  of  wind  that 
thinned  the  smoke  so  that  I  had  a  view  of  one 
of  the  windows  on  the  floor  above.  My 
heart  gave  a  great  throb — for  in  that  window 
I  saw  Count  Robert,  gun  in  hand,  firing  down 
on  our  men!  Over  his  shoulder,  in  another 
moment,  I  saw  Surto  leaning  forward  and 
handing  him  a  fresh-loaded  gun. 

"Now,"  thought  1,  "my  time  has  come! 
Monster,  murderer  of  my  father,  it  is  my  turn 
now!"  I  levelled  my  gun  at  him  and  took 
careful  aim.  He  was  fairly  at  the  end  of  my 
barrel,  and  my  hand  was  on  the  trigger.  But 
I  couldn't  fire.  A  tremor  came  over  me,  and 
the  look  that  Adeline  gave  me  as  I  parted 
from  her  flashed  before  my  eyes.  I  had  prom- 
ised her  that  I  would  not  hurt  her  brother.  I 
lowered  my  gun! 

.  But  I  had  made  no  promises  about  Surto. 
He  was  fair  game.  But,  try  as  I  might,  I 
could  not  get  a  shot  at  him.  The  coward  hid 


®Ije  Storming  of  tl)e  King's  daetle.  303 

himself  so  well  behind  his  master  that  all  I 
could  see  of  him  was  his  arm  as.  he  reached 
foward  every  moment  or  so  to  hand  the  fresh 
pieces  with  which  the  Count  kept  up  a  steady 
fire. 

And  while  I  stood  watching  for  my  chance 
1  saw  something  so  startling  that  I  scarcely 
could  believe  my  eyes.  While  the  Count 
leaned  forward,  aiming,  Surto's  big  hand  came 
in  sight  holding  a  pistol.  In  another  instant 
the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  was  close  to  the  back 
of  his  master's  head.  There  was  a  flash — and 
Count  Robert,  his  head  blown  to  pieces,  fell 
forward  across  the  window-ledge  while  a 
stream  of  blood  ran  down  the  wall  to  the 
ground. 

1  was  utterly  bewildered.  I  pinched  my- 
self to  make  sure  I  was  not  dreaming.  But  it 
was  no  dream.  There  was  the  Count's  body 
across  the  window-sill,  his  arms  flopping 
down  outside.  Of  Surto  I  could  see  nothing. 
He  had  fired  his  traitor  shot  and  run  away. 

That  was  no  place  for  stopping  to  think. 
While  I  still  was  looking  up  at  the  window 
there  was  the  tremendous  report  of  a  cannon 
loaded  with  grape,  and  I  found  myself  nearly 
blinded  with  smoke  while  all  around  me  was 
the  sharp  whistle  of  flying  balls.  Our  men 


304  ®l)«  ftefos  of  tl)*  JftiM. 

were  mowed  down  like  grass.  The  ground 
was  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded.  Our 
line  broke  and  we  fell  back  toward  the  gate — 
while  the  Royalists  set  up  a  great  cheering  of 
"Vive  le  Roi!"  and  "Vive  la  Reine!" 

Captain  Gamier,  who  had  taken  command 
of  the  Battalion  when  our  Commandant  fell, 
was  the  only  one  of  us  who  stood  firm.  He 
was  clear  grit,  that  man,  and  he  showed  his 
grit  then.  He  did  not  fall  back  a  single  step. 
There  in  the  whirling  smoke,  among  the  dead 
and  wounded,  he  stood  alone.  We  saw  him 
wave  his  sword,  and  we  heard  him  cry:  "To 
me,  men  of  Marseilles !" 

And  then  came  another  shout,  but  from  our 
rear.  Our  old  gunner  Peloux  had  not  yet  had 
a  chance  to  make  his  dogs  bark,  and  it  was  his 
voice  that  we  heard.  "  Room  for  the  guns!  " 
he  shouted.  "You  call  yourselves  Marseilles 
Patriots  and  back  down  before  Parisian  Aristo- 
crats !  I'll  teach  you  how  to  get  rid  of  Anti- 
Patriots.  Let  me  get  at  them  with  these 
bronze  squirts  of  mine.  Out  of  the  way,  all 
of  you !  Room  for  the  guns !  " 

The  coolness  of  our  Captain  and  our  gun- 
ner put  us  to  shame.  Our  panic  was  ended 
and  we  grew  steady  again.  Some  of  us  made 
a  clear  path  by  dragging  aside  the  dead  and 


®lje  Storming  of  ttje  King's  €astlc.  305 

wounded,  while  others  tailed-on  to  the  ropes 
or  tugged  at  the  wheels  of  the  guns.  In  no 
time  we  had  them  both,  loaded  as  they  were 
to  the  muzzle  with  grape,  planted  right  in 
front  of  the  great  entrance  to  the  Castle. 
Through  the  thinning  smoke  we  could  see 
clustered  on  the  steps  the  grenadiers  in  their 
hairy  caps;  and  behind  them,  in  the  vestibule, 
the  red-coated  Swiss  were  crowded  like  a 
swarm  of  bees.  They  fired  on  us  steadily. 
The  black  entrance  was  bright  with  the  flash 
of  their  pieces.  It  was  like  the  mouth  of  hell. 

But  Peloux  paid  no  attention  at  all  to  the 
balls  that  went  whistling  around  him — plough- 
ing up  the  earth,  knocking  big  splinters  out  of 
the  gun-carriages,  making  long  silvery  streaks 
on  the  bronze  guns.  Without  in  the  least 
hurrying  himself,  he  trained  the  muzzles  of 
both  pieces  straight  toward  the  doorway,  care- 
fully primed  them,  and  flourished  his  linstock 
to  bring  it  to  a  glow.  In  his  easy-going, 
devil-may-care  way,  when  all  was  ready,  he 
mockingly  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  the 
Castle;  and  as  he  touched  off  his  cannon  he 
cried  mockingly,  as  though  he  had  been 
emptying  slops  out  of  a  window:  "Look  out 
below! " 

Bang!   went    the  first    gun,   spitting   out 


306  STIje  Bebs  of  t\)e  Jttibi. 

grape  on  the  Swiss  and  grenadiers  and  cutting 
a  swath  like  a  scythe-stroke  in  a  clover-field !  It 
was  our  turn  to  roar  then,  and  we  yelled 
'•Vive  la  Nation!  "  at  the  top  of  our  lungs. 

As  the  smoke  cleared  away  a  little  we  saw 
our  harvest  of  dead  and  wounded.  The  steps 
were  strewn  with  fallen  men.  The  grenadiers 
had  broken  and  were  crowding  back  into  the 
Castle  upon  the  Swiss,  while  some  of  them 
were  squeezing  down  into  the  cellar-windows 
or  running  toward  the  garden. 

"  Te !  "  shouted  Peloux.  ' '  They  don't  like 
the  way  our  guns  spit.  Wait  for  the  other 
one!  "  He  blew  up  his  linstock,  made  another 
mocking  bow,  and  cried:  "Look  out  behind, 
gentlemen!" — and  so  fired  the  second  gun 
through  the  doorway  of  the  Castle  right  into 
the  thick  of  the  crowd.  Soldiers  of  all  colours, 
red,  green,  white  and  blue,  fell  dying  in 
heaps. 

That  time  it  was  the  Aristocrats  who  were 
panic-struck.  They  stopped  firing  at  us  from 
the  doorway,  and  we  had  only  the  peppering 
of  shots  from  the  windows  above.  Our  drums, 
which  had  stopped  beating  when  we  were 
driven  back,  broke  out  loudly  with  the  old 
quick-step;  Captain  Gamier,  rushing  ahead 
of  us,  shouted  "  Forward !  " ;  and  with  lowered 


®l)e  Storming  of  tljc  King's  Castle.  307 

bayonets  we   charged   up  the   steps  into  the 
Castle — the  hornet's  nest,  the  snake's  lair! 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  cried  Margan,  as  he 
plunged  into  the  thick  of  it  with  his  head 
down,  like  a  bull  broken  loose  in  the  city 
streets.  "Now  we're  going  to  get  pitch-forks 
in  our  hides! " 

And  pockmarked  Margan  was  right,  so 
we  were!  All  the  way  up  those  stairs  it  was 
nothing  but  sword  points  and  bayonets.  The 
grenadiers  and  Swiss  stood  four  men  to  a  step, 
giving  us  cut  and  thrust  as  we  came  on — and 
the  .others  higher  up  poured  on  us  a  steady 
fire.  At  each  step  four  men  had  to  be  got  rid 
of  by  bayonet,  sword  or  pistol. 

It  was  slow  work.  But  with  Captain  Gar- 
nier  and  Margan  to  set  the  pace  there  was  no 
balking.  Vauclair  was  close  up  with  them. 
We  all  set  our  bayonets  and  pressed  for- 
ward. 

Peloux,  who  made  fun  of  everything, 
pointed  to  the  red  coats  of  the  Swiss  mixed 
in  with  the  green  coats  of  the  Grenadiers  and 
called  out:  "Hello,  boys,  we're  going  to  pick 
tomatoes!  Forward,  all  who  like  tomatoes  !  " 
and  as  he  spoke,  he  let  fly  into  the  crowd 
above  us  two  grenades  which  went  off  with  a 
tremendous  noise. 


308  ®|)e  Eebe  of  tl)e  fflibi. 


That  was  the  turning  point  of  our  fight  on 
the  staircase.  Through  the  blinding  smoke 
we  could  hear  the  crash  of  broken  glass  that 
followed  the  bursting  of  the  grenades,  and  then 
the  groans  of  the  wounded.  We  surged  for- 
ward, yelling  "Vive  la  Nation!,"  with  such 
a  rush  that  the  steps  trembled  under  us.  The 
explosion,  the  shouts,  the  trembling  of  the 
stones,  made  the  Anti-Patriots  believe  that  the 
staircase  was  breaking  down  under  them  —  and 
suddenly  there  was  a  rush  and  a  crush  and  a 
scamper  that  can  not  be  told! 

Some  of  the  poor  Swiss,  losing  their  heads, 
flung  themselves  down  upon  our  bayonets  or 
jumped  over  the  balusters  and  broke  their 
bones  on  the  stone  pavement  below.  They 
no  longer  kept  a  steady  front  against  us,  and 
upward  we  went  —  spitting  with  our  bayonets 
and  slinging  behind  us  those  of  them  who  did 
stand  firm,  and  who  cried  in  the  very  moment 
they  got  their  death-thrust  "Vive  le  Roi!" 
Vive  la  Reine!"  As  we  killed  them,  these 
men  did  not  seem  to  weigh  an  ounce.  We 
stuck  them  through  and  tossed  them  behind 
us  as  though  we  had  been  turning  sheaves  on 
a  threshing-floor.  Margan  was  right,  it  was 
pitchfork  work  indeed! 

We  got  up  almost  to  the  first  story;  but  It 


®l)e  Storming  of  the  Hing's  Castle.  309 

seemed  as  if  the  more  men  we  got  rid  of  the 
more  sprang  up  before  us.  We  were  covered 
with  blood  from  our  heads  to  our  heels.  Blood 
was  pouring  down  the  staircase  as  though 
hogsheads  of  wine  had  been  stove-in  above. 
My  wrists  were  strained  and  sore.  My  bayo- 
net was  bent  by  all  the  bones  it  had  struck 
against  in  breasts  and  thighs. 

It  was  Peloux  who  cleared  away  the  group 
at  the  head  of  the  stairway  with  a  couple  more 
of  his  grenades.  There  was  another  tremen- 
dous crash  as  the  grenades  exploded;  and  then 
most  of  the  Royalists  left  alive,  and  with  legs 
to  carry  them,  scattered  like  a  suddenly  dis- 
covered nest  of  rats  and  made  off  for  the  King's 
apartment. 

A  few  of  them,  seeing  that  fighting  was 
useless,  surrendered;  and  some  of  these  we 
spared.  The  poor  Swiss,  who  only  were  do- 
ing their  duty,  were  given  their  lives;  and  so 
were  the  wretched  National  Guards— the  men 
of  the  people,  as  we  knew  by  their  rough 
shirts  and  hard  hands,  who  were  fighting  us 
against  their  will.  But  it  was  another  mat- 
ter with  the  sprigs  of  nobility,  the  counts  and 
marquises  with  their  lace  jabots  and  their  silk- 
tied  queues.  For  them  there  was  no  mercy. 
It  was  a  knock  on  the  head  or  a  span  of  cold 


310  ®|)e  Bebs  of  il]e  ittiM. 

steel  in  their  breasts — and  then  out  of  the  win- 
dow to  Coblentz ! 

Our  catechism  was  a  short  one.  "Ah, 
you  are  one  of  the  people.  Good.  Shout 
'Vive  la  Nation!'  Be  a  good  Patriot.  Go 
your  way!  "  Or  it  would  be:  "Ah,  you  wear 
silk  stockings  and  your  hair  is  powdered. 
Good.  Swallow  this  plum!  "  and  crack  would 
go  a  pistol-ball  through  his  skull.  1  tell  you 
it  was  a  good  thing  on  that  Tenth  of  August 
to  wear  a  coarse  shirt  and  have  rough  hands ! 

For  two  hours  and  more  the  good  work 
went  on.  We  hunted  everywhere:  in  pas- 
sages and  in  parlours,  in  big  rooms  and  in 
little  rooms;  in  garrets  and  in  lofts.  And 
everywhere  we  found  people  hidden  away  so 
frightened  that  they  didn't  dare  to  call  their 
souls  their  own.  We  routed  them  out  from 
closets,  from  on  top  of  wardrobes,  from  under 
beds;  we  dragged  them  down  from  chimneys; 
we  caught  them  stowed  away  in  the  rafters 
under  the  tiles;  we  chased  them  over  the 
roof. 

At  last,  when  we  thought  we  had  cleared 
out  the  whole  place,  we  came  to  a  landing  be- 
tween two  stairways  where  an  Aristo  was 
standing  guard  before  a  bolted  door.  He  was 
a  brave  fellow,  that  Aristo.  "  Halt,"  he  cried. 


(Elie  Storming  of  tl)e  Hint's  (Eastle.  311 

"You  can't  enter  here!" — and  he  cracked  off 
his  pistol  and  the  ball  cut  through  Margan's 
cap  and  just  shaved  his  skull.  Yet  it  was 
Margan  who  saved  his  life  for  him.  The  rest 
of  us  would  have  finished  him  in  no  time ;  but 
Margan  stood  by  him  and  we  let  him  go — 
although  the  pig-head  could  not  be  made  to 
cry  "  Vive  la  Nation!  "  at  any  price  at  all! 

We  bounced  him  down  stairs,  and  as  we 
burst  the  door  open  there  were  cries  and  screams 
from  within.  In  the  room  we  found  three  grand 
court  ladies,  and  a  younger  lady  as  lovely  as 
the  day,  all  dressed  in  silks  and  laces.  The 
oldest  of  them  called  to  us  to  save  from  death 
her  niece,  meaning  the  beautiful  young  lady, 
and  said  that  if  any  one  must  die  it  should  be 
herself — and  as  she  spoke  she  went  down  on 
her  knees  before  us  and  bared  her  breast  to 
our  swords. 

Her  devotion  moved  us  and  filled  us  with 
wonder.  Captain  Gamier  made  short  work  of 
the  matter.  He  caught  the  lady's  hand  and 
pulled  her  to  her  feet,  saying:  "Get  up, 
hussy!  The  nation  has  no  need  for  your  life" 
— and  then  he  detailed  four  men  to  escort 
the  women  to  some  place  where  they  would 
be  safe. 

Those,  certainly,  were  the  last  of  the  traitor 


312  ®|]e  Hefca  of  tlje  ittibi. 

Aristos  left  in  the  Castle.  It  was  midday,  and 
the  fight  was  at  an  end.  There  was  not  a 
whole  pane  of  glass  left  in  the  windows. 
Everywhere  the  doors  which  we  had  burst  in 
were  lying  flat  or  hanging  crazily  on  their 
broken  hinges.  The  furniture  was  tossed  and 
tumbled  everywhere.  The  carpets,  the  walls, 
the  hangings,  were  splashed  with  blood.  Dead 
men  were  lying  around  everywhere  on  the 
floors.  In  one  of  the  front  rooms  I  saw  the 
body  of  Count  Robert  still  hanging  across  the 
window-ledge,  just  as  he  fell  at  Surto's  trai- 
tor shot. 

We  entered  the  King's  apartment,  all  hung 
with  white  and  blue.  "  See,  that's  his  por- 
trait up  there!  "  said  Margan — and  in  a  moment 
he  had  snatched  it  off  the  wall  and  flung  it  on 
the  floor.  We  joined  hands  and  danced  a  faran- 
dole  around  it,  each  of  us  as  we  passed  spitting 
on  the  tyrant's  face,  and  all  of  us  roaring  out 

Dansons  la  Carmagnole, 
Vive  le  son  du  canon ! 

Since  our  supper  of  the  night  before  not 
one  of  us  had  had  bite  or  sup.  Yet  we  went 
on  as  though  we  were  drunk,  hugging  and 
kissing  the  brave  Federals  of  Brest  and  the 
Patriots  from  the  Faubourg  de  Gloire  and 


Storming  of  ttye  King's  (Hastie.  313 


dragging  them  into  our  farandole.  And  so, 
farandoling,  we  all  went  on  into  the  apartment 
of  the  Queen. 

There  all  was  gold  and  silk,  and.  mirrors 
covering  the  walls  to  the  very  ceiling,  and 
pictures  to  take  your  breath  away,  and  curtains 
and  laces,  and  carpets  as  soft  as  down.  And 
all  had  a  sweet  delightful  smell.  Margan 
caught  hold  of  the  bed  and  dragged  it  into  the 
middle  of  the  room;  and  as  he  tumbled  and 
rolled  on  it  we  took  up  our  crazy  round  again 
and  danced  about  him  singing  the  worst  thing 
we  could  think  of  to  sing: 

Fai,  fai,  fai  te  lou  tegne  blu,  panturlo! 
Fai,  fai,  fai  te  lou  tegne  blu! 

It  was  while  I  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
dance  that  1  suddenly  fell  to  wondering  what 
had  become  of  Vauclair.  Could  he  be  wounded, 
I  thought,  or  —  dead!  The  thought  made  me 
shiver.  I  dropped  from  the  round  and  ran 
searching  for  him  through  the  rooms  —  stopping 
now  and  then  to  turn  over  a  dead  man,  lying 
face  downward  on  the  floor,  to  make  sure  that 
it  was  not  my  friend.  I  looked  out  from  the 
windows  upon  the  courts,  the  terraces,  the 
gardens.  I  saw  National  Guards  in  plenty, 
crowds  of  Patriots,  some  even  of  our  own 


of  tle  illibi. 


men.  They  were  helping  the  wounded  or 
they  were  hugging  each  other  and  crying  and 
laughing.  But  I  did  not  see  Vauclair. 

But  from  one  of  the  windows,  looking 
down  upon  a  corner  of  the  gardens  cut  off 
from  the  rest  by  a  thick  hedge  of  laurel,  I  did 
see  a  very  strange  and  dreadful  sight.  There 
was"  old  Planchot,  drawn  close  against  the 
wall,  standing  straight  up  and  watching  a 
cellar-window  as  a  cat  watches  a  rat  hole. 
Some  poor  Swiss,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
cellar  when  they  saw  how  all  had  gone  wrong, 
were  trying  to  get  out  by  the  window  and  so 
give  their  legs  a  chance  to  save  their  skins. 
Poor  wretches  !  As  soon  as  one  of  them  stuck 
out  his  head  —  crack!  Planchot's  axe  split  his 
skull!  And  then  Planchot's  hands  dragged 
him  out  and  laid  him  on  one  side.  The  game 
evidently  had  been  going  on  for  some  time, 
for  there  was  a  ghastly  heap  of  bodies;  and  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  carnage  Planchot  was  fairly 
chuckling  with  delight.  It  was  a  sight  so 
frightful  that  it  made  my  blood  run  cold. 

While  I  stood  watching  him,  rny  eyes  held 
fast  by  horror,  I  saw  another  sight  that,  while 
not  so  dreadful,  was  still  more  strange.  There 
stepped  out  from  behind  the  laurel  hedge  a  big 
man,  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  National 


®l)e  Storming  of  tlje  King's  Castle.  315 

Guard,  who  went  straight  up  to  Planchot  and 
spoke  to  him.  For  a  moment  I  felt  dazed  and 
everything  whirled  around  me;  for  the  big 
man — there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it — was 
Surto;  and  to  see  Surto  in  that  dress,  and  talk- 
ing that  way  to  Planchot,  seemed  to  me  to  see 
about  the  most  impossible  thing  in  the  world! 

But  my  wits  did  not  stay  long  wool-gather- 
ing. "Oh  you  miserable  dog!  Oh  you  mur- 
derer!" I  cried,  "I've  got  you  at  last!"  And 
I  sprang  back  from  the  window  and  rushed 
down  the  stairway  four  steps  at  a  time,  pistol 
in  hand. 

Half  way  down  I  plumped  into  a  man 
coming  up.  It  was  Vauclair,  who  was  look- 
ing for  me  as  I  had  been  looking  for  him. 
"Hello,  Pascalet !  "  said  he,  "what's  the  mat- 
ter ?  Where  are  you  bound  in  such  a  hurry  ? 
You  look  as  wild-eyed  as  if  you  had  seen  a 
ghost! " 

I  did  not  let  him  stop  me.  "Come  along! 
Come  along !  "  I  shouted  back.  ' '  Surto's  down 
there  with  Planchot.  I'm  going  to  kill  him 
like  a  mad  dog!  " 

Vauclair  turned  and  came  tearing  down 
after  me,  and  followed  me  through  rooms  and 
passages  until  we  got  out  of  doors.  We  ran 
round  the  Castle,  and  presently  I  found  the 


316  ®be  Bebs  of  tl)*  illiM. 


place  that  I  was  looking  for.  There  was  the 
laurel  hedge  ;  there  were  the  dead  Swiss  lying 
in  a  pile  as  Planchot  had  thrown  them  —  but  as 
for  Planchot  and  Surto,  they  had  vanished  like 
smoke! 

I  was  wild,  crazy,  my  eyes  were  starting 
out  of  my  head,  in  the  same  breath  I  wept  and 
cursed  with  rage.  Vauclair  looked  at  me 
queerly,  and  then  with  a  kind  touch  laid  his 
hand  on  my  arm.  "Come,  come,  Pascalet," 
he  said,  "your  eyes  have  played  a  trick  on 
you.  You  are  weak  for  want  of  food  and 
your  wits  are  not  steady.  The  boys  are  wait- 
ing for  us.  There,  don't  you  hear  the  drums 
beating  the  recall  ?  Come!  " 

I  let  him  lead  me  away,  but  1  knew  that 
my  eyes  had  not  played  a  trick  on  me  and  that 
my  wits  were  all  right.  There  was  the  laurel 
hedge  ;  there  was  the  cellar-window  ;  up  above 
was  the  window  out  of  which  I  had  seen 
Planchot  and  Surto  as  plainly  as  ever  I  saw 
anybody  in  my  life.  As  we  walked  away  I 
kept  looking  back  over  my  shoulder  in  the 
hope  that  Surto  might  show  again,  but  the 
place  was  bare. 

The  men  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau 
were  assembling  in  the  Gardens,  and  the  men 
of  the  Faubourg  de  Gloire  in  the  Place  du 


®l)e  Storming  of  Ifye  King's  Castle.  317 

Carrousel.  We  followed  the  call  of  our  own 
drums  to  the  Cour  Royale.  There  we  found 
Captain  Gamier,  a  bloody  handkerchief  wrapped 
round  his  hand,  getting  the  Battalion  into  line, 
and  Vauclair  and  I  fell  in.  Our  men  were 
shaking  hands  over  their  good  luck  in  coming 
through  the  fight  alive,  and  telling  each  other 
what  they  had  done  in  it,  and  sorrowing  over 
the  wounded  and  dead. 

At  the  first  calling  of  the  roll  only  two  hun- 
dred of  us  answered  to  our  names;  but  strag- 
glers came  in  every  moment  to  fill  some  of  the 
vacant  places  in  the  ranks.  Many  of  our  men 
had  been  detailed  to  take  prisoners  to  the  Na- 
tional Assembly,  and  others  had  gone  there  of 
their  own  accord  to  deposit  valuables  which 
they  had  found.  When  I  met  Vauclair  on  the 
stairs  he  had  just  come  back  from  taking  to 
the  Assembly  a  purse  full  of  gold  louis  d'ors 
which  he  had  found  on  the  floor  of  the  King's 
apartment.  Others  had  taken  jewels  left  scat- 
tered on  the  carpets  or  lying  on  the  smashed 
furniture.  Tears  of  joy  rolled  down  our  cheeks 
as  each  new  man  took  his  place  in  the  ranks. 

When  some  time  had  passed  without  the 
return  of  more  of  our  comrades,  Captain  Gar- 
nier  again  called  the  roll — slowly,  company  by 
company.  When  a  name  was  called  to  which 


3i  8  ®l)e  ftefcs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


there  was  no  answer  the  drums  rolled  mourn- 
fully —  and  that  meant:  "  He  died  for  Liberty!  " 
Two  hundred  out  of  five  hundred  men  were 
missing.  As  we  found  later,  twenty  of  these 
were  dead,  and  one  hundred  and  eighty 
wounded. 

While  this  sad  roll-call  went  on  the  National 
Guards  had  brought  biers  and  were  carrying 
off  the  dead  bodies  scattered  everywhere  in 
the  courts  and  gardens  and  inside  the  Castle. 
They  lifted  up  poor  Samat  from  the  place 
against  the  wall  to  which  I  had  dragged  him 
in  the  morning,  and  as  they  brought  him 
toward  us  the  Battalion  presented  arms.  Sobs 
choked  us  and  tears  blinded  us.  In  a  moment 
we  had  broken  ranks  and  had  surrounded  our 
poor  dead  comrade,  crying  like  children.  Each 
one  of  us  in  turn  kissed  the  poor  cold  hand 
hanging  from  the  bier  :  that  Patriot  hand  that 
for  two  hundred  leagues  had  carried,  as  though 
it  had  been  the  Host,  the  Declaration  of  the 
Rights  of  Man. 

As  we  fell  back  into  line  and  stood  ready 
to  march  I  felt  something  warm,  like  a  little 
stream  of  warm  water,  trickling  down  into  my 
shoe;  and  for  a  moment  I  felt  sick  and  faint 
and  a  flash  of  lightning  seemed  to  pass  before 
my  eyes.  I  looked  down  to  see  what  was 


®l)e  Storming  of  tl)e  King's  Castle.  319 

happening  to  my  foot  and  what  it  was  that 
felt  warm — and,  behold !  it  was  my  own  blood 
dropping  down  in  big  drops  like  great  red  cur- 
rants from  my  little  finger!  How  queer  it 
was!  I  did  not  in  the  least  remember  being 
wounded.  I  couldn't  help  calling  out:  "See! 
See!  The  first  joint  of  my  little  finger  has 
been  shot  away! " 

I  was  so  delighted  to  think  that  I  really  had 
been  wounded  in  the  fight  that  I  jumped  up  and 
down  with  joy — just  as  a  cat  does  when  she 
feels  the  weather  is  going  to  change.  "I'm 
wounded,  I'm  wounded,  too!  Vive  la  Na- 
tion!" I  cried — and  I  held  up  my  bleeding 
stump  so  that  everybody  could  see  I'd  been 
hit.  Our  men  all  burst  out  laughing  at  me, 
and  at  my  joy  that  the  tip  of  one  of  my  fingers 
had  been  shot  off. 

But  what  was  queerer  than  my  having 
been  hit  without  knowing  it  was  that  as  soon 
as  I  did  know  it  my  finger  began  to  throb  and 
smart  with  pain.  But  I  did  with  it  what  I  had 
been  used  to  do  when  I  smashed  my  paws  in 
cracking  almonds — I  put  it  into  my  mouth  and 
sucked  it ;  and  so,  feeling  like  a  hero  and  look- 
ing like  a  finger-sucking  baby,  off  I  marched 
with  the  Battalion  to  the  barracks. 

Our  work  was  over  and  we  were  free  to 

22 


320  ®l)e  ftebs  of  tl)e  ittibi. 


rest  ourselves  and  have  a  good  time.  Away 
we  marched,  our  men  singing  the  holy  chant 
of  Liberty  : 

Aliens  enfants  de  la  Patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! 

But  I  couldn't  sing  because  I  had  my  finger  in 
my  mouth  !  I  could  only  comfort  myself  by  see- 
ing all  along  the  Rue  Saint-Honore  the  proof  of 
how  the  Paris  people  had  changed  their  tune.  In 
that  very  street,  the  night  before,  they  had  fired 
at  us  from  the  windows  and  stoned  us  from  the 
roofs;  and  as  we  marched  back  by  daylight 
the  same  windows  and  roofs  were  crowded 
with  men,  women  and  children  welcoming  us 
with  shouts  of  "  Vive  les  Marseillais!  " 

Oh,  but  it  was  fun  to  see  the  fat  shopmen 
bowing  and  scraping  to  us  in  their  doorways 
and  to  hear  them  cheering  us  —  while  they  sent 
painters  scampering  up  long  ladders  to  daub 
out  in  a  hurry  the  fleur-de-lys,  and  the  Royal 
arms,  and  all  the  Anti-Patriot  stuff  they  had 
stuck  on  their  signs!  Out  came  "Vive  le 
Roi!"  and  "Vive  la  Reine!"  and  "Devil  take 
the  Nation!  "  —  and  in  their  place  came  "  Down 
with  the  tyrant!  "  and  "  Vive  la  Nation!  "  and 
"  Vive  les  Marseillais!  " 

As  we  came  to  the  Arcade  Saint-Jean  the 
crowd  grew  so  thick  in  front  of  us  that  we 


®l)e  Storming  of  ttje  King's  Castle.  321 

scarcely  could  make  our  way  through  it;  and 
then  we  found  that  it  was  dammed  up  against 
the  section  of  the  National  Guard  of  Paris  com- 
manded by  the  famous  Santerre.  There,  in  that 
place  so  far  away  from  the  King's  Castle,  we 
found  that  Santerre's  precious  National  Guard 
had  spent  all  the  night  and  all  the  morning — 
ready  to  join  the  winning  side  as  soon  as  they 
knew  which  it  was !  There  they  waited,  ready 
to  greet  us  with  open  arms  or  to  fall  on  us  and 
kill  us  for  rebels,  just  as  our  luck  at  the  Castle 
should  decide.  And  as  luck  had  been  with  us 
— as  they  knew  that  the  Castle  was  in  ruins 
and  the  throne  upset  and  the  King  the  people's 
prisoner — they  stuck  their  hats  on  their  bay- 
onets and  came  toward  us  shouting  with  the 
crowd :  ' '  Vive  les  Marseillais !  " 

But  we  weren't  exactly  idiots,  and  we  said 
to  ourselves:  ''These  Parisians  are  a  nice  lot — 
we  opened  the  door,  and  now  they  want  to 
push  in  ahead  of  us  and  be  greater  Revolu- 
tionists than  we!  Prudent  Monsieur  Santerre, 
who  always  had  a  thorn  in  his  foot  when  we 
wanted  him  to  go  ahead  with  us,  now  wants 
to  get  in  front  of  the  whole  procession !  To- 
morrow it  will  be  Santerre  who  has  thrown 
down  the  tyrant  and  saved  the  country  all  by 
himself!"  And  in  our  thoughts  we  added: 


322  ®l)e  Hebs  of  tl)e  Xttibi. 

"  If  only  he  doesn't  go  and  spoil  all  we  have 
begun  so  well! " 

Already  the  jackals  were  at  work.  Crowds 
of  pilfering  good-for-nothings,  ragged  scamps, 
drunken  and  dishevelled  women,  even  Na- 
tional Guards,  were  robbing  the  houses  and 
churches  and  palaces.  And  the  tigers  were  at 
work,  too.  We  met  strings  of  people  getting 
hauled  along  to  prison  tied  fast  like  thieves — 
priests,  nobles,  honest  middle-class  folk,  all 
half-dead  with  fear.  The  only  charge  against 
them  was  that  they  were  Anti-Patriots;  or,  if 
not  quite  Anti- Patriots,  that  they  were  so  far 
behind  the  times  as  still  to  have  some  respect 
left  for  their  King  and  their  Queen.  We,  the 
Reds  of  the  Midi — who  had  been  cried  out  at 
for  brigands,  for  galley-slaves  escaped  from 
Toulon — would  have  thought  it  quite  enough 
to  have  made  them  shout  "Vive  la  Nation!" 
and  then  go  their  ways.  But  these  Parisians 
who  had  shirked  the  real  fighting,  who  had 
let  us  all  by  ourselves  save  the  country  and 
The  Rights  of  Man,  felt  that  they  must  draw 
blood  from  the  Aristocrats  in  order  to  wash  out 
their  shame.  By  the  time  that  we  reached  our 
barracks,  that  is  to  say  by  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  all  of  the  Paris  prisons  were  full  of 
Aristocrats  or  of  poor  wretches  who  were 


(Jlje  Storming  of  tlje  King's  Castle.  323 

taken  for  Aristocrats.  We  had  believed  that 
we  were  opening  the  gates  for  Liberty  to  enter 
in  and  possess  the  land;  and,  behold!  we  had 
let  loose  the  foxes  of  rapine  and  the  wolves 
of  revenge  and  the  scorpions  of  hate!  I,  who 
was  then  but  a  boy,  saw  it  all  only  too  well. 

When  we  got  to  our  barracks  we  had  all 
the  bread  and  wine  that  we  wanted,  and  we 
just  stuffed  till  we  were  packed  full.  And  as 
I  still  had  by  me  two  heads  of  garlic  I  made 
the  best  meal  of  them  all.  Good-hearted  Mar- 
gan  had  tied  up  my  finger,  with  a  bit  of  ama- 
dou that  stopped  the  bleeding,  and  1  was  all 
right  after  my  first  swallow  of  wine. 

Vauclair  and  I  kept  looking  at  each  other 
while  we  were  eating;  and  I  knew  that  he 
was  thinking,  just  as  I  was,  how  glad  Lazuli 
and  Adeline  and  Clairet  would  be  to  see  us  safe 
and  sound.  Before  we  had  fairly  finished  he 
said  to  me:  "Well,  Pascalet,  you  know  who 
wants  to  see  us.  How  do  you  feel  about  go- 
ing home?  " 

How  did  I  feel  ?  The  words  were  barely 
out  of  his  mouth  before  I  had  given  a  last  kiss 
to  my  bottle,  wiped  my  lips  on  my  sleeve, 
clacked  my  tongue,  and  stood  up  ready  to 
start! 

All  the  way  from  our  barracks  to  the  Im- 


324  ®t)e  &efcs  of  tlje  JttiM. 

passe  Guemenee  we  had  to  push  our  way 
through  a  yelling,  frightful  crowd.  The  streets 
were  full  of  people  half  drunk  or  half  crazy,  all 
flourishing  swords  and  pikes  and  all  screaming 
and  shouting.  But  our  uniform  made  us  sure 
of  a  welcome  everywhere  as  we  went  along. 
The  very  people  who  the  day  before  had 
stabbed  us  with  looks  of  hate  were  the  first  to 
cry  "  Vive  les  Marseillais!  " 

At  last  we  reached  Planchot's  door,  and 
Planchot's  wife  and  Lazuli  and  Adeline  and 
Clairet  were  all  there  ready  to  open  to  our  knock 
and  call.  Vauclair  and  Lazuli  threw  themselves 
into  each  other's  arms;  I  caught  Adeline  to  me 
and  kissed  her  as  though  she  had  been  my  sis- 
ter; and  little  Clairet  hugged  away  at  his  fath- 
er's leg. 

But  there  was  no  Planchot  to  greet  Jane- 
toun.  When  she  found  that  he  was  not  with 
us  she  covered  her  face  with  her  apron  and  burst 
forth  into  lamentations  and  sobs  and  groans. 
"They  have  killed  my  Planchot!"  she  cried. 
"  1  ought  never  to  have  let  him  go.  Who  will 
give  me  back  my  Planchot?"  And  down  she 
fell  on  the  bench  and  then  rolled  off  and  lay 
among  the  shavings  on  the  floor.  To  tell  the 
truth,  we  all  were  so  much  taken  up  with  our 
own  affairs  that  we  paid  no  attention  to  her. 


Storming  of  tlje  fung'0  Castle.  325 


And  it  did  not  matter;  for  while  we  still  were 
kissing  each  other  the  door  flew  open  and 
Planchot  came  in.  He  was  frightful  to  behold. 
He  held  his  bloody  axe  in  his  hand,  and  was 
so  covered  with  blood  from  head  to  foot  that 
at  first  his  wife  did  not  know  him.  Not  until 
she  had  taken  a  long  look  at  him  did  she 
scream  out:  "  It  is  indeed  my  Planchot!  "  But 
she  did  not  venture  to  touch  him.  "  What  has 
happened  to  you  ?  Where  are  you  wounded  ? 
Has  some  one  killed  a  pig  and  tumbled  you 
into  the  tub  of  blood  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  wounded  anywhere,"  Planchot 
answered;  "but  my  wrist  is  a  good  deal 
strained.  That  axe,  just  as  you  see  it  there, 
has  cracked  the  skulls  of  seventeen  Aristos. 
Yes,  I,  Planchot,  I  all  by  myself  made  a  heap 
of  dead  bodies  that  I  believe  would  fill  up  this 
room!  And  afterward,  with  the  help  of  a 
good  Patriot  who  joined  himself  to  me,  I  was 
able  to  catch  and  to  deliver  over  to  the  people 
all  the  nobles  and  Anti-Patriots  here  in  our 
Quarter.  It  is  only  a  moment  since  I  gave  up 
the  last  one,  a  noble  in  the  Rue  des  Douze 
Portes,  the  Marquis  of  —  of  -  Devil  take  his 
name,  it  makes  no  difference  what  it  was.  Oh 
there  will  be  plenty  of  heads  for  our  holy  guil- 
lotines!" 


326  iftlje  Ecbs  of 


"Oh  Blessed  Mary  help!"  cried  Adeline; 
and  as  she  spoke  she  fell  back  pale  as  death. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Planchot!  "  cried  Vau- 
clair.  "  Don't  you  see  you  are  frightening  that 
child  out  of  her  wits  ?  " 

Planchot's  wife  had  thrown  her  apron  over 
her  head  again  and  was  rocking  back  and  forth 
saying:  "Oh,  it  can't  be  possible!  It  can't 
be  possible!  It  can't  be  my  man  who  has 
done  such  things!  " 

Planchot  was  delighted  with  having  so  ter- 
rified his  wife;  but  as  he  wiped  his  bloody 
hands  with  shavings  he  said,  gently:  "Yes, 
the  poor  little  girl  is  faint.  If  I  had  known  it 
would  hurt  her  I  wouldn't  have  said  a  word. 
Get  some  orange-flower  water,  wife.  She'll 
soon  come  to." 

Janetoun  and  Lazuli  and  I,  together,  carried 
Adeline  up  stairs  and  laid  her  on  Lazuli's  bed; 
for  that  very  morning  her  own  had  gone  off 
with  the  rest  of  the  guillotines.  When  we 
had  left  the  room,  as  Vauclair  told  me  after- 
ward, Planchot  went  on:  "  It's  really  too  bad 
about  her,  poor  child!  But  how  could  I  know 
that  what  I  was  saying  would  upset  her  so  ?  It's 
lucky  I  didn't  tell  about  the  horrible  big  woman 
who  wanted  to  bleed  the  little  Marquis  with 
her  pig-sticking  knife.  I  stopped  that  game, 


QLtye  Storming  of  tt)e  fiing's  Castle.  327 

however.  We  must  draw  the  line  somewhere, 
and  I  wouldn't  let  her  do  it — the  dirty  jade!  " 

"A  big  woman  with  a  pig-sticking  knife," 
broke  in  Vauclair.  "What  was  her  name, 
Planchot  ?  Was  it  La  Jacarasse  ?  " 

"Why  yes,  La  Jacarasse.  That  was  the 
name,  sure  enough,"  Planchot  answered. 

"Then  shame  to  you,  miserable  man  that 
you  are!  "  cried  Vauclair.  "It  must  have  been 
the  Marquis  d'Ambrun  that  you  delivered  up. 
And  as  to  that  famous  Patriot  who  was  help- 
ing you,  he  is  the  servant  of  the  Marquis — a 
murderous  dog  of  a  German  who  only  this 
morning  was  fighting  against  us  at  the  King's 
Castle — no  Patriot  at  all.  He  is  the  lover  of 
the  Marquise,  and  he  has  betrayed  his  master 
to  death  so  that  he  may  steal  safely  his  wealth 
as  well  as  his  wife.  Is  it  possible  that  you, 
Planchot,  honest  Planchot,  Planchot  la  Liberte 
as  the  Companions  call  you — can  it  be  that  you 
have  lent  a  helping  hand  to  that  Anti-Patriot 
hound  ?  " 

Planchot  frowned  and  shook  his  head  in 
answer  to  all  this  abuse;  but  all  that  he  said  in 
reply  to  it  was:  "  Are  you  sure  that  what  you 
tell  me  is  true  ?" 

"  I  am  as  sure  that  it  is  true,"  Vauclair  an- 
swered, "as  I  am  sure  that  I  have  on  my  hand 


328  ®t)e  ftebs  of  tl)e  HUM. 

four  fingers  and  a  thumb.  Pascalet  can  prove 
it  to  you,  for  this  German,  this  fellow  Surto, 
twice  has  tried  to  kill  him.  And  1  must  tell 
you  another  thing,  Planchot — it  is  no  time  for 
concealments,  now,  and  you  shall  know  the 
whole  truth.  Adeline,  the  dear  good  girl 
who  is  with  us,  is  not  our  child:  she  is  the 
unhappy  daughter  of  this  very  Marquis  d'Am- 
brun.  We  saved  her  out  of  the  clutches 
of  La  Jacarasse.  Her  own  mother  and  Surto 
had  given  her  to  that  beast  of  a  woman  to  do 
anything  with — they  did  not  care  what — that 
would  put  her  out  of  the  way.  What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Planchot  ?" 

"What  do  I  think?"  cried  Planchot,  sput- 
tering with  anger  as  he  picked  up  his  axe. 
"  Why,  I  think  I  have  done  just  what  I  ought 
to  have  done.  And  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't 
crack  your  head  open  with  my  axe  now  that 
I  know  how  you  have  tricked  me  into  having 
an  Aristocrat's  daughter  in  my  house!  " 

"And  I,"  answered  Vauclair,  as  he  stuck 
the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  between  Planchot's 
eyes,  "would  blow  your  brains  out  did  I  not 
know  that  you  would  come  with  me  and  with 
Pascalet  to  rescue  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun,  and  to 
deliver  up  in  his  place  Surto  the  murderer  and 
the  abominable  Jacarasse." 


Storming  of  llje  tiing's  (totle.  329 


Planchot  had  plumped  down  on  the  shav- 
ings when  he  saw  the  pistol  levelled  at  him, 
but  Vauclair  kept  it  pointed  straight  at  his 
face.  Trembling  with  fear  he  answered: 
"Don't  point  that  thing  at  me.  I  will  do 
whatever  you  please.  But  it's  too  late  now  to 
rescue  the  Marquis.  Paris  is  full  of  prisons  — 
and  how  can  we  ever  find  the  one  that  he's  in  ? 
And  there's  nobody  in  the  house  any  longer. 
The  German  —  if  he  is  a  German  —  and  La 
Jacarasse,  and  another  woman  who  said  she 
was  the  German's  wife  —  it  must  have  been  the 
Marquise,  I  suppose  —  were  clearing  everything 
out  of  it  while  we  were  tying  the  Marquis  to 
take  him  off;  and  when  we  left  they  left,  too. 
How  are  we  ever  going  to  find  them,  either,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  1  tell  you  the  track's  lost.  " 

"All  this  is  worse  and  worse,"  said  Vau- 
clair. "You  say  yourself  that  you  saw  them 
ransacking  the  house  and  carrying  off  the  valu- 
ables. Why,  surely,  that  must  have  opened 
your  eyes  ?  Is  it  possible  that  a  Patriot  like 
Planchot  could  have  had  a  hand  in  such  doings  ? 
What,  Planchot,  my  old  master  Planchot,  a 
robber!  " 

That  word  robber  was  too  much  for  Plan- 
chot. His  axe  fell  from  his  hand  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "Forgive  me,  Vauclair,"  he 


33°  ®b*  ft*&s  0f  tl)e 


said;  "and  don't  say  a  word  about  what  has 
happened  before  my  wife.  I  am  a  wicked 
wretch.  I  neither  thought  nor  reasoned.  What 
can  I  do  to  set  things  right  ?  " 

"You  can  help  Adeline  to  find  her  father 
again,  and  to  get  back  again  what  you  helped 
Surto  and  La  Jacarasse  to  steal." 

"So  I  will,"  Planchot  answered.  "You 
are  entirely  right  in  the  whole  matter,  Vauclair. 
What  could  I  have  been  thinking  of?  I,  Planchot 
la  Liberte  ;  I,  who  never  wronged  any  one  of  so 
much  as  a  sou,  am  to-day  no  better  than  a 
robber.  To-night,  to-morrow,  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  as  long  as  I  have  breath  in  my 
body,  I  will  work  to  clean  away  this  black 
spot  from  my  name.  I  swear  to  you,  Vau- 
clair, that  I  will  search  all  Paris,  house  by 
house,  to  find  Adeline's  father  alive  or  dead— 
and  to  find  those  robbers,  Surto  and  his  harlot 
marquise  and  La  Jacarasse." 

At  seeing  his  old  master  so  broken  down 
by  shame  and  sorrow  Vauclair  was  almost  as 
much  moved  as  Planchot  was  himself.  When 
I  came  down  stairs  I  found  them  hugging  each 
other  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

And  then  we  held  a  sort  of  council  of  war 
together  and  settled  on  what  we  were  to  do 
and  how  it  best  might  be  done. 


®l)e  Storming  of  tlje  King's  ffiastle.  331 

From  that  day  on  the  three  of  us  had  but 
one  hope  and  one  aim:  to  find  for  Adeline, 
who  lay  almost  dying  of  grief  and  horror,  her 
father  and  at  the  same  time  to  find  and  to 
punish  the  three  robbers  who  had  stolen  her 
heritage. 

I  will  not  try  to  tell  you  the  whole  long  story 
of  how  day  after  day  we  tramped  over  Paris  on 
our  search;  often  starting  out  before  daylight 
and  hunting  until  night.  We  divided  the  city 
among  us,  and  each  of  the  three  hunted  through 
his  own  part  street  by  street;  asking  such 
questions  as  we  dared  to  ask,  listening  for  bits 
of  talk  that  might  put  us  on  the  scent,  looking 
always  for  the  lair  of  the  three  murderers  and 
for  the  prison  in  which  the  old  Marquis  was 
shut  up  waiting  for  his  death.  We  would  get 
back  home  at  night  tired  out,  more  dead  than 
alive;  and  then  we  would  have  to  make  up  a 
story  full  of  big  lies  to  comfort  poor  Adeline. 

Fortunately,  Adeline  only  knew  that  her 
father  had  been  cast  into  prison.  She  did  not 
know  that  Surto  had  murdered  her  brother, 
and  she  thought  that  her  mother  still  lived  in 
the  house  in  the  Rue  des  Douze  Fortes  and 
waited  in  sorrow  for  her  to  be  found  and 
brought  home.  We  let  her  keep  on  believing 
this,  and  every  night  we  promised  her  that 


33  2  ®lK  &efos  of 


the  next  morning  we  would  take  her  to  her 
mother.  When  the  morning  came  we  would 
find  a  reason  for  keeping  her  with  us  for  yet 
another  day.  As  the  time  passed,  and  hope 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her,  she  grew  thinner 
and  still  more  pale. 

But  in  spite  of  the  pain  that  it  gave  me  to 
see  her  sorrow,  and  in  spite  of  my  dread  of  the 
day  when  she  would  have  to  know  all  and 
might  fall  dead  of  grief  and  horror,  I  loved  the 
time  that  I  spent  with  her  in  Planchot's  little 
house  in  the  Impasse  Guemenee.  Each  night 
at  supper  she  waited  on  me  and  cut  up  my 
bread;  but  before  supper,  and  that  was  most 
delightful  of  all,  she  cared  for  my  wounded 
hand.  Very  gently  she  would  unwrap  the 
bandage  and  put  on  fresh  lint.  —  her  delicate 
hands  touching  me  with  a  touch  as  soft  as  if 
she  had  on  silk  gloves.  As  she  bent  forward 
to  wrap  the  bandage  I  would  see  the  curve  of 
her  slender  neck,  and  her  lovely  hair  would  come 
close  to  my  lips.  Then  she  would  take  a  big 
handkerchief  and  fold  it  into  a  sling,  and  in 
order  to  tie  the  sling  properly  she  would  have 
to  put  her  arms  around  my  neck  as  though  she 
were  going  to  embrace  me.  Her  sweet  mouth 
would  be  just  in  front  of  my  mouth,  while  her 
frank  gentle  eyes  looking  straight  into  mine 


Storming  of  tlje  King's  Castle.  333 


would  make  my  eyelids  fall.  Sometimes  her 
loose  curling  hair  would  brush  my  cheek;  and 
as  I  felt  its  soft  play,  and  still  more  as  I  felt  the 
sweet  weight  of  her  arms  on  my  shoulders, 
thrills  of  exquisite  delight  would  run  through 
me  —  which  1  never  tried  to  explain,  but  only 
enjoyed. 

For  days  this  troubled  and  weary  life,  that 
yet  had  in  it  for  me  so  much  happiness,  went 
on  and  on.  We  found  nothing  that  could  put 
us  on  the  track  of  the  wretches  we  sought; 
we  found  no  trace  of  the  poor  old  Marquis; 
we  had  no  news  to  give  Adeline  that  would 
at  all  quiet  and  comfort  her.  We  saw  that 
soon  we  would  have  to  tell  her  the  whole 
truth. 

At  last  the  time  for  truth-telling  came.  It 
could  be  put  off  no  longer  —  for  the  Marseilles 
Battalion  was  to  be  paid-off  and  discharged. 
The  work  that  we  had  come  to  do  was  done, 
and  well  done.  Pay  for  the  time  we  had 
served  in  Paris  had  been  voted  to  us  by  the 
National  Assembly,  and  when  that  pay  was  in 
our  pockets  all  would  be  over  with  the  Battal- 
ion and  we  would  be  free  to  go  back  again 
into  the  South. 

On  the  eve  of  the  pay-day  we  held  a  whis- 
pered council  in  Planchot's  shop,  and  there  the 


334  ®tK  fte&s  of  ttje 


matter  was  settled.  It  was  decided  that  while 
Vauclair  and  I  went  to  get  our  money  the 
women  should  tell  poor  Adeline  everything, 
and  should  make  her  understand  that  the 
best  and  only  safe  thing  for  her  to  do  was  to 
go  back  with  us  to  Avignon  and  share  our 
bread  until  better  times  should  come. 

I  left  the  house  very  early  in  the  morning 
that  I  might  certainly  be  out  of  the  way  when 
Adeline's  cry  of  pain  should  break  forth.  Only 
to  think  of  it  broke  my  heart. 

I  was  at  the  barracks  before  Vauclair  had 
left  the  Impasse  Guemenee;  and  the  sun  was 
just  gilding  the  eaves  of  the  houses  as  I  fell  in 
with  Margan  and  Peloux  and  a  half  dozen  other 
gay  Federals  —  all  of  whom,  as  soon  as  they  saw 
me,  held  up  their  pouches  and  jingled  the  seven 
crowns  they  had  just  received. 

"Hurry  up,  kid!"  cried  Margan.  "Make 
your  grab,  and  then  come  along  with  us. 
We're  off  for  a  good  time.  We  mean  to  see 
some  of  the  sights  of  this  big  village  before  we 
leave  it  for  good!  " 

They  took  me  to  a  corner  of  the  barracks 
where  I  found  a  sergeant  of  the  Battalion,  and 
with  him  a  paymaster  who  tinkled  seven  silver 
crowns  into  each  Federal's  hand.  I  got  into 
the  line,  and  presently  I  too  was  paid;  and 


Storming  of  tt)e  King's  Castle.  335 


when  I  saw  those  seven  silver  quoits  —  which 
slid  about  among  my  fingers  like  eels  as  I  tried 
holding  them  first  in  one  hand  and  then  in 
both  —  I  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  myself 
nor  where  to  put  my  riches.  But  Margan, 
who  was  in  a  hurry  to  start  off  for  his  good 
time,  slipped  my  money  into  my  pocket  for 
me;  and  then,  as  he  caught  me  under  the  arm, 
he  called  out:  "  Forward,  march!  Now  we'll 
set  sail  and  cut  up  high  !  "  —  and  off  we  all 
went  together,  arm  in  arm  and  taking  up  the 
whole  width  of  the  street. 

At  the  first  cabaret  with  a  red  cap  over  the 
door  we  went  in  and  called  for  brandied  grapes 
—which  set  us  to  cackling  away  like  so  many 
hens  after  egg-laying  as  we  walked  along. 
We  hadn't  the  least  notion  where  we  were 
going,  but  that  made  no  difference  at  all.  The 
next  tavern  we  came  to,  in  we  all  went  and 
had  two  or  three  glasses  all  around  of  some 
fiery  stuff.  Then  we  cocked  our  caps  over  our 
ears  and  off  we  went  again.  Everywhere  the 
Parisians,  at  sight  of  our  uniform,  made  way 
for  us.  Since  the  Tenth  of  August  they  had 
taken  good  care  when  they  saw  a  Marseillais 
coming  to  make  room  for  him  by  standing 
with  their  backs  against  the  wall! 

We  crossed  the  river  and  went  through  the 
23 


336  ®b*  fts&s  of  tl)£  iflibi. 


Place  du  Carrousel,  and  as  we  passed  the  ty- 
rant's Castle  we  roared  out  together: 

Tremblez,  tyrans,  et  vous  perfides! 

But  for  all  that  I  was  having  such  a  good 
time,  every  now  and  then  the  thought  of  Ade- 
line in  her  trouble  would  come  back  to  me  and 
give  a  sharp  tug  at  my  heart. 

Presently  we  came  to  another  tavern,  over 
the  door  of  which  was  the  sign:  "A  la  galere 
d'  Avignon." 

"This  is  the  place  we've  been  looking 
for!"  shouted  Margan.  "We'll  go  right  in. 
Here  we  can  get  wine  from  the  Crau,  and 
black  olives,  and  cod-fish  fried  in  olive-oil  from 
Aix." 

We  were  all  sharp  set  by  that  time,  and  in 
we  crowded  in  a  bunch. 

Getting  in  there  was  like  getting  home. 
The  hostess  was  a  jolly  girl  from  Aramon  who 
had  been  carried  off  to  Paris  by  one  of  the 
King's  salt-tax  collectors.  She  made  us  wel- 
come with  a  will,  setting  out  good  strong  wine 
with  white  bread  and  a  pot  of  olives  to  stay 
our  stomachs  until  the  fricassee  should  be 
ready,  and  all  the  while  chattering  away  to  us 
in  Provencal.  In  a  twinkling  we  had  bolted 
the  wine  and  bread  and  olives  and  had  called 


©l)e  Storming  of  tlje  King's  OTastlc.  337 

for  more,  and  while  we  were  eating  the  second 
round  there  came  to  us  from  the  kitchen  a  de- 
lightful tasty  smell  as  the  oil  bubbled  and 
snapped  in  the  pan.  At  last  in  came  our  host- 
ess, her  cheeks  as  red  as  tomatoes,  carrying  a 
great  dish  of  cod-fish  as  yellow  as  gold.  The 
pieces  were  at  least  two  inches  thick,  and  as 
the  knife  touched  them  they  fell  apart  in  flakes 
like  flints.  With  a  dash  of  vinegar  it  was  all 
that  a  man  could  desire! 

Peloux,  to  be  sure,  said  that  perhaps  it  was 
a  little  too  salt.  But  Margan  took  him  up 
short.  "Salt's  all  right,"  said  he.  "  It's  good 
for  cuts,  and  it  makes  a  body  dry." 

That  salt  cod-fish  did  make  us  dry!  We 
poured  down  glass  after  glass  of  red  wine 
from  the  Crau,  and  after  that  of  white  wine 
from  Sainte  Cecile.  Then  we  took  to  strong 
brandy  and  quince  cordial;  and  we  ended  off 
by  drinking  all  the  home-made  cordials  that 
the  Aramon  girl  had  in  her  house. 

While  we  were  sitting  there,  filling  our- 
selves up  like  hogsheads,  carts  full  of  Aristo- 
crats began  to  go  rumbling  by — on  their  way 
to  Versailles,  somebody  said,  because  the 
prisons  of  Paris  were  jammed  full.  A  howling 
crowd  of  men  and  women  and  children  sur- 
rounded the  carts,  shaking  their  fists  at  the  pris- 


338  ®t)e  Hebe  of  tl)e 


oners  and  throwing  mud  at  them.  At  sight 
of  all  this  we  paid  our  bill  in  a  hurry;  and  out 
we  went  again,  arm  in  arm,  to  see  what  was 
going  on. 

Behind  the  carts  came  another  sort  of  pro- 
cession. At  the  head  of  it  was  a  woman  beat- 
ing a  drum,  hitting  the  case  much  oftener  than 
she  did  the  drumhead;  then  came  another 
woman,  wearing  a  red  cap  and  carrying  a  head 
stuck  on  a  pike,  and  then  a  crowd  of  sans- 
culottes shouting  the  "£a  ira." 

We  turned  to  go  with  the  crowd;  but 
when  I  saw  that  the  head  on  the  pike  was 
that  of  a  fair-haired  woman,  young  and  beauti- 
ful, everything  suddenly  seemed  to  go  whirling 
around.  I  remembered  my  Adeline  left  un- 
guarded —  what  if  anything  should  happen  to 
her!  Peloux  and  the  rest  had  joined  in  the 
"£a  ira,"  and  to  hide  my  feelings  I  tried  to 
sing  too.  But  I  couldn't.  I  burst  into  tears 
and  scarcely  could  get  along. 

Margan  was  the  first  to  see  that  there  was 
anything  wrong  with  me.  ''Dear!  Dear!" 
said  he.  "The  kid's  crying.  His  drink  makes 
him  dismal."  And  then,  by  way  of  comfort- 
ing me,  I  suppose,  he  and  Peloux  caught  me 
under  the  arms  and  began  to  jump  me  up  and 
down  to  the  tune  of  the  "£a  ira." 


Storming  of  tl)e  King's  Castle.  339 


We  came  out  on  an  open  space  on  one  side 
of  which  was  a  high  tower.  Here  the  crowd 
began  to  dance  about,  yelling;  while  the  more 
furious  shook  their  fists  at  the  grated  windows 
—for  inside  that  tower  the  King  and  his  family 
were  prisoners.  The  woman  carrying  the 
head  on  the  pike  —  it  was  the  head  of  the  Prin- 
cesse  de  Lamballe,  I  heard  the  people  around 
me  in  the  crowd  saying  —  took  it  close  up  to 
the  tower  and  held  it  as  high  as  she  could 
reach  toward  the  window,  while  she  screamed 
out:  "Come  down,  you  wretched  old  black- 
guard of  a  Capet  and  kiss  this  jade.  And  tell 
your  Austrian  that  her  head  will  grin  on  a  pike 
to-morrow  as  this  one  grins  to-day!"  And 
then  the  hag  suddenly  lowered  her  pike  and 
smeared  a  handful  of  mud  over  the  poor  pretty 
dead  woman's  face. 

But  what  was  still  worse,  just  then  another 
brute  of  a  woman  went  close  to  the  window 
and  held  up  before  it  the  Princesse  de  Lam- 
balle's  still  bleeding  heart. 

Even  Peloux,  who  never  was  shocked  at 
anything,  couldn't  stand  that.  But  he  didn't 
like  to  own  up  to  what  was  the  matter,  and  so 
he  made  an  excuse.  "  See  here,  Margan,"  he 
said,  "  my  throat's  as  dry  as  tinder.  Let's  go 
somewhere  where  I  can  wet  it." 


340  ®l)e  Hefcs  of  Uje  HUM. 

"  All  right,"  we  answered  in  a  breath,  glad 
enough  to  get  away;  and  then  in  we  trooped 
to  a  tavern  called  the  "  Revolution  "  where  we 
kissed  a  good  many  more  glasses  of  red  wine 
and  white.  As  night  came  on,  and  we  got 
hungry  again,  we  had  a  grand  crespeu  for  sup- 
per; and  then,  while  we  went  on  drinking, 
Margan  sang  us  a  song  of  his  own — that  he 
had  composed  in  French,  he  said,  on  purpose 
to  make  the  Parisians  stare.  And  they  did  stare, 
I  can  tell  you!  Off  he  went  with  the  first  two 
verses,  telling  how  the  Aristocrats  came  forth 
from  their  villages  in  all  their  finery  to  save  their 
King  and  Queen : 

Quand  je  partions  de  nos  villages 

J'etions  fringants, 
J'etions  vetus  de  pied  en  cape 

Comme  galants. 

Je  portions  des  chapeaux  de  paille 

Large  et  pointus 
Avecque  des  coucardes  noires 

De  papier  blu! 

How  the  Parisians  did  clap  and  stamp  and 
shout!  But  when  Majgan  came  to  his  last 
verse,  in  which  he  told  how  the  Marseilles  men 
were  too  much  for  the  Aristocrats,  they  made 
him  sing  it  over  and  over  again! 


Storming  0f  tlje  Eing's  (JIastle.  341 

Pour  aparer  le  roi,  la  reine 

J'etions  venus, 
Mais  le  bataioun  de  Marseille 

Nous  a  battus! 

As  for  me,  my  poor  head  was  going  round 
and  round,  and  the  lights  were  dancing  before 
me,  and  I  didn't  know  in  the  least  what  I  was 
doing  or  where  I  was.  I  took  Peloux  for 
Vauclair,  and  I  babbled  on  in  a  stream  of  talk 
to  him ;  yet  all  the  while  feeling  that  the  words 
I  was  saying  didn't  mean  what  I  wanted  to 
say.  The  others  were  in  much  the  same  fix; 
and  by  the  time  that  Margan  had  got  through 
with  about  the  twentieth  singing  of  his  third 
verse  we  all  felt  that  we  had  had  drink  enough 
— and  something  to  spare! 

Out  we  went  into  the  streets  once  more ;  but 
we  could  not  walk  straight,  and  at  one  moment 
we  banged  against  the  wall  and  the  next  we 
stumbled  along  in  the  midway  gutter.  Drink 
had  driven  all  sense  out  of  me  and  I  can't  re- 
member in  the  least  a  single  street  that  we 
passed  through.  My  comrades  must  have 
kept  a  few  gleams  of  sense  about  them,  for 
they  managed  to  get  themselves  and  me  into  a 
great  big  house,  all  full  of  lights,  that  I  found 
out  afterward  was  a  theatre.  All  that  I  can 
remember  about  it  is  that  I  saw  a  big  handsome 


342  (j:i)c  ftebe  of 


woman  in  a  lace  dress  —  so  thin  that  she  might 
have  left  it  off  without  anybody's  noticing 
much  difference  —  who  shrieked  out  a  song 
in  a  way  to  make  your  ears  tingle,  and 
who  all  the  time  she  was  singing  twisted 
about  and  shook  herself  as  a  dog  does  when 
he  has  a  bone  caught  in  his  jaws.  And  when 
she  got  through  everybody  clapped  and  clapped 
as  if  it  had  been  the  loveliest  song  in  the 
world. 

When  she  had  finished  her  howling,  Mar- 
gan  shouted:  "Come  along,  boys!  Let's 
show  the  young  lady  an  Avignon  round!  "  and 
then  in  the  midst  of  the  astounded  audience 
standing  in  the  pit,  we  danced  the  craziest 
round  to  the  ribald  "  Fai,  fai,  fai!" 

Just  as  on  a  sunny  day  in  summer  the  little 
whirlwinds  strike  the  threshing-floor,  gather- 
ing up  for  a  moment  a  column  of  dust  and 
husks  and  then  going  as  suddenly  as  they 
came,  did  we  whirl  around  before  the  amazed 
Parisians  and  then  vanish  through  the  corridor 
into  the  dark  street. 

But  after  that  performance  we  had  the  grace 
to  be  ashamed  of  ourselves,  and  we  agreed 
that  it  was  time  to  go  back  to  the  barracks. 
The  trouble  was,  though,  that  we  didn't  in  the 
least  know  which  way  to  go.  Paris  at  all  times 


®l)e  Storming  of  tl)e  King's  Castle.  343 

is  a  puzzle  for  a  Marseilles  man,  but  it  is  most  a 
puzzle  at  night. 

"Look  there,"  said  Margan,  staggering  a 
little  as  he  spoke.  "Do  you  see  that  lantern  ? 
Well,  I  know  that  lantern — I  saw  an  Aristocrat 
hung  up  to  it  only  two  nights  ago.  If  we  go 
down  there  past  it  we'll  get  to  the  river,  and 
then  we'll  be  all  right." 

Margan's  reasoning  was  so  good  that  we 
went  the  way  he  pointed  out  to  us;  and  it  did 
bring  us  to  the  river,  sure  enough.  We  knew 
where  we  were,  then,  and  we  set  to  singing  as 
we  crossed  the  bridge  and  turned  to  walk  up 
stream.  But  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  no 
river  in  sight,  and  we  were  all  tangled  up 
again  in  the  narrow  crooked  Paris  streets. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Peloux.  "I  know 
where  we  are.  That  light  off  there  is  the 
barracks  lantern,  for  sure." 

We  headed  for  the  lantern,  and  as  we  got 
nearer  to  it  we  heard  the  most  infernal  racket 
inside. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we're  back  again,"  said 
Peloux.  ' '  The  boys  are  having  an  oldfashioned 
good  time." 

"Why,  this  isn't  the  barracks,"  said  Mar- 
gan. 

"You're  right,  I  believe   it   isn't,''  Peloux 


344  ®1)£  fte&s  of  t\)t  ittibi. 


answered.  "  But  no  matter.  Let's  go  in  and 
see  what's  going  on.  The  doors  are  open  and 
there's  nothing  to  pay.  Come  on!  " 

We  followed  him,  and  as  we  were  stepping 
across  the  threshold  we  met  a  couple  of  sans- 
culottes dragging  along  a  man  whom  they 
threw  into  a  cart  waiting  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street. 

"Oh,"  said  Margan,  "it's  a  tavern;  that's 
what  it  is.  Didn't  you  see  the  drunken  man 
those  fellows  were  carrying  out  ?  Pooh  ! 
These  Parisians  can't  hold  any  wine  at  all!  " 

As  we  talked,  we  went  into  a  great  vaulted 
entrance-hall  —  filled  with  a  shouting,  yelling 
crowd  —  at  the  far  end  of  which  went  up  a 
stairway  to  the  floor  above.  Excepting  a  few 
women,  with  their  sleeves  rolled  up  to  their 
elbows  like  hucksters,  all  the  people  about  us 
were  sans-culottes  ;  and  although  they  were 
armed  in  every  sort  of  way  —  with  swords  and 
pikes  and  iron  bars  and  even  staves  —  they  all 
were  armed. 

Every  one  was  pushing  toward  the  stair- 
way ;  and  as  we  stood  on  tip-toe  and  looked 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  we  saw  that  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  was  a  little  red  table  at 
which  sat  three  sans-culottes,  with  red  caps  on 
their  heads,  looking  as  stern  and  serious  as 


Storming  of  tfye  King's  Castle.  345 


judges.  A  flickering  candle  stuck  in  a  bottle 
stood  on  the  table  and  lighted  up  the  picture. 

While  we  stood  watching,  there  was  a 
movement  up  in  the  shadows  at  the  head  of 
the  stairway;  and  then  down  into  the  light 
came  an  old  priest.  He  was  as  pale  as  death, 
his  hands  were  bound,  and  he  was  between 
two  jailers  who  pushed  and  jostled  him  to 
make  him  go  faster.  As  soon  as  he  stood  in 
front  of  the  table  at  which  sat  the  stern-look- 
ing judges,  a  sharp  voice  cried  out:  "He  has 
refused  the  oath."  And  then  the  judges  all  to- 
gether cried:  "Death!" 

On  the  instant,  two  or  three  iron  bars 
struck  him  down.  Pikes  and  swords  were 
thrust  into  him.  He  was  dead.  And  then 
two  sans-culottes  dragged  out  his  body  to 
throw  it  in  the  cart  —  the  same  whom  we  had 
met  dragging  out  the  man  that  we  thought 
was  drunk. 

This  sight  so  sobered  me  that  I  dropped 
Margan's  arm  and  edged  my  way  forward 
through  the  crowd  toward  the  front  rank  that 
I  might  see  what  was  going  on.  The  farther 
1  pushed  the  tighter  I  was  squeezed;  and  at 
last  I  was  caught  fast  among  a  lot  of  men  and 
women  all  so  much  taller  than  I  was  that  even 
on  tip-toe  I  could  not  get  a  clear  view.  But 


346  ®|)c  Heirs  of  llje  HUM. 

by  stooping  I  managed  to  see  out  under  the 
elbow  of  a  big  National  Guard  who  had  a 
bloody  iron  bar  in  his  hand. 

I  was  just  settled  in  my  place  when  a  young 
and  beautiful  lady  was  dragged  down  the 
stairs.  She  caught  at  the  balusters,  and  when 
she  was  forced  in  front  of  the  judges  she  fell 
on  her  knees  and  her  screams  and  prayers  for 
mercy  fairly  broke  my  heart.  "  Poor  girl!  "  I 
thought.  "Surely  they  won't  dare  to  kill 
her  ?  "  But  in  a  moment  three  brutes  of  women, 
three  furies,  flung  themselves  upon  her;  and 
whHe  two  of  them  scratched  gashes  in  her 
face  the  third  dragged  down  the  waist  of  her 
dress  and  like  a  mad  dog  bit  and  tore  her 
tender  breasts.  Saving  her  from  this  torture,  a 
sans-culotte  ran  her  through  with  his  sword. 

The  work  went  on  rapidly.  One  after 
another,  quickly,  prisoners  were  dragged  down 
the  stairs ;  sentence  was  passed  on  them  in  a 
breath ;  and  in  another  breath  they  were  killed 
and  carried  away  to  the  cart. 

All  this  while  the  big  National  Guard  in 
front  of  me  had  not  stirred.  Suddenly  he 
stepped  forward,  and  in  the  same  instant  I 
heard  the  high-pitched  feeble  voice  of  an  old 
man,  a  voice  that  I  well  knew,  crying  out: 
<(Ah,  there  you  are,  my  good  and  faithful  fel- 


®l)e  Storming  of  ttye  King's  (Eostk.  347 

low.  Save  me!  Save  me!"  In  answer  to 
that  cry,  the  big  National  Guard  raised  his  iron 
bar  and  brought  it  down  with  a  terrible  blow 
on  the  head  of  the  poor  little  old  man  who  was 
begging  for  his  life. 

Then  I  recognised  big  Surto :  at  last  he  had 
murdered  his  master,  the  Marquis  d'Ambrun! 
As  the  Marquis  fell,  La  Jacarasse  came  out 
from  the  crowd,  and  with  her  pig-killing  knife 
coolly  began  to  cut  off  the  gold  buttons  from 
his  coat.  Surto  stepped  forward  and  stamped 
on  the  face  of  his  master  with  his  hob-nailed 
shoes. 

With  one  bound  I  was  in  front  of  the  mon- 
ster, and  as  I  shook  my  fist  at  him  I  cried: 
"He  is  a  murderer,  an  Anti-Patriot!  Arrest 
him !  "  But  instantly  a  half  dozen  of  the  men 
and  women,  of  the  hundreds  who  were  shriek- 
ing and  howling  with  delight  at  the  bloodshed, 
seized  me  and  dragged  me  before  the  judges. 
"Thou  art  the  traitor!"  they  cried.  "Thou 
art  the  Aristo !  Death !  Death ! " 

Happily  for  me,  one  of  the  judges  rose  from 
his  place  and  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head,  and 
so  protected  me  from  the  iron  bars  already 
raised.  When  the  anger  of  the  murderous 
gang  was  a  little  quieted  he  asked  me  to  give 
an  account  of  myself,  and  to  tell  why  1  wanted 


348  $l)e  E*&0  of 


to  revenge  the  death  of  a  Marquis  who  had 
come  from  the  other  end  of  the  country  to  help 
the  King. 

I  began  to  answer,  speaking  in  as  good 
French  as  I  could  muster:  "I  am  a  Federal 
Patriot  belonging  to  the  Marseilles  Battalion." 

"Death!  Death!"  shrieked  the  women, 
breaking  in  on  me;  while  a  sans-culotte  who 
had  drawn  a  paper  from  my  pocket  and 
glanced  at  it  cried  out:  "Look  here!  Read 
this  bit  of  paper  —  it  is  his  death-warrant!  " 

It  was  Monsieur  Randoulet's  letter  recom- 
mending me  to  Canon  Jusserand.  The  judge 
took  the  paper,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
silence.  Up  on  the  stairs  above  us  a  line  of 
prisoners  was  waiting  until  my  affair  should 
be  settled  to  be  brought  downward  to  death. 

The  sans-culotte  judge  frowned  as  he  read 
the  paper,  and  I  was  sure  that  I  was  lost. 
Truly  enough,  the  recommendation  of  one 
priest  to  another  priest  was  a  death-warrant  in 
those  days.  I  looked  around  and  called  to 
Margan  and  Peloux  to  come  forward  and  prove 
the  truth  of  what  I  had  said  ;  but  the  two,  hav- 
ing lost  sight  of  me,  must  have  staggered  out 
into  the  street  thinking  that  they  would  find 
me  there. 

"Death!     Death!"   shrieked   the  sans-cu- 


Storming  of  tl)e  King's  €a01le.  349 


lottes,  crowding  around  me  and  raising  their 
iron  bars  to  beat  out  my  brains  as  soon  as  the 
judge  took  his  hand  off  my  head. 

But  just  then  a  voice  from  a  strange  quarter 
was  raised  in  my  defense.  "Wait!  I  will  tell 
you  the  truth  in  this  matter.  I  swear  to  speak 
the  truth  —  I  who  so  soon  shall  appear  before 
my  God!  " 

It  was  one  of  the  prisoners  on  the  stairs 
who  was  speaking.  As  the  judges  turned  to- 
ward him  he  went  on:  "  That  unhappy  boy 
most  certainly  is  a  Federal  Patriot,  a  member 
of  the  Marseilles  Battalion.  I  know  it  only  too 
well.  That  very  boy  gave  the  information  to 
the  gendarmes  of  the  Nation  which  led  to  my 
arrest  on  the  bridge  of  Saint-Jean  d'  Ardieres. 
In  proof  of  what  I  say,  tell  him  to  show  you  the 
medal  of  Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours  that  I 
gave  him  then." 

Then  I  knew  who  it  was  that  was  speak- 
ing for  me  :  it  was  the  old  shepherd,  the  Bishop 
of  Mende. 

I  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  pulled 
out  the  medal  and  gave  it  to  the  judges.  They 
looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  to- 
gether: "What  the  boy  has  said  is  the  truth. 
He  is  a  Patriot,  a  Marseillais.  " 

"Then  let  him  be  off  and  join  his  Battal- 


35°  ®l)e  Hebs  of  U)e  HUM. 

ion,"  cried  a  red-coiffed  woman;  and,  seizing 
me  by  the  shoulder,  she  thrust  me  into  the 
crowd  toward  the  door. 

I  wanted  to  thank  the  Bishop  of  Mende  who 
had  saved  me  from  death ;  but  that  could  not 
be.  As  I  turned  around  1  saw  him  kneeling — 
then  the  iron  bars  fell  and  he  dropped  in  a  heap ! 

1  looked  for  Surto  and  La  Jacarasse,  deter- 
mined to  revenge  myself  on  the  two  monsters ; 
but  they  had  slipped  away  during  the  stir 
caused  by  my  affair,  and  no  doubt  had  gone 
to  join  the  worthless  Adelaide — the  traitress 
Marquise. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  come 
away  too.  1  worked  along  through  the  crowd 
and  got  out  at  last  to  the  street;  and  glad  I 
was  to  be  in  the  quiet  of  the  dark  streets,  and 
alone.  The  sight  of  Adeline's  father  had  stirred 
me  deeply.  I  seemed  still  to  hear  ringing  in 
my  ears  the  sound  of  his  weak,  piping,  old- 
man's  voice;  the  very  same  voice  that  had 
called  out  to  the  swine-herd  who  had  given 
me  such  a  whack  when  1  picked  up  the  cab- 
bage-stalk: "Well  done!  Well  done!  What 
is  thai  little  rascal  doing  there  ?  Does  he  want 
to  take  the  food  out  of  the  mouths  of  my 
pigs?"  And  now  I  had  seen  that  old  man 
murdered  by  his  own  servant  in  cold  blood ! 


®i)c  Storming  of  ti)e  King's  (Hustle.  35 J 

By  that  time  I  was  no  longer  a  staggering 
drunkard.  I  was  entirely  sober.  A  great 
fright  had  come  to  me.  Death  had  been  close 
to  my  shoulder — so  close  that  1  had  felt  her 
cold  breath  upon  my  neck.  The  fumes  of 
wine  had  been  driven  out  of  my  brain.  And 
suddenly,  there  in  the  darkness  and  silence,  all 
that  had  happened  to  me  during  that  day,  and 
most  vividly  what  had  happened  during  these 
last  moments  of  it,  flashed  before  my  eyes. 
As  I  saw  it  all  there  came  over  me  a  fear,  an 
anguish,  a  shame,  no  words  can  tell.  How 
could  I  ever  confess  to  Lazuli,  to  Vauclair,  to 
Adeline,  how  I  had  passed  that  day?  They 
could  call  me  anything  bad,  and  it  would  be 
true.  1  could  make  no  denial.  Very  likely 
they  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  me 
—would  turn  me  out  of  doors. 

Then  I  thought  of  my  money,  and  began 
to  hunt  in  my  pockets  for  it — every  sou  of 
it  was  gone!  I  must  have  spent  it  in  my 
stuffing  and  guzzling.  Yet  that  money  did 
not  belong  to  me  to  spend.  It  really  be- 
longed to  Vauclair.  I  owed  it  to  him.  Just 
out  of  pure  goodness  and  kindness  of  heart,  he 
had  sheltered  me  and  cared  for  me  for  six 
long  months.  It  was  his  money  that  had  gone 
in  my  gluttony  and  drunkenness. 
24 


352  ®b*  Hel>s  0f 


What  a  sin  I  had  committed  !  Truly  I  did 
deserve  to  be  looked  down  upon  by  Vauclair 
—drunkard  that  I  was!  Lazuli  would  be  in 
tears.  Poor  Adeline,  in  all  her  bitter  trouble, 
would  have  more  trouble  and  of  my  making. 
She  would  be  ashamed  to  touch  me,  to  speak 
to  me.  Never  could  I  dare  to  see  them  in  such 
pain  and  sorrow  because  of  my  wickedness; 
never  could  I  dare  to  face  them  again  after 
what  I  had  do'ne.  Better  would  it  have  been 
had  the  Bishop  of  Mende  held  his  tongue;  bet- 
ter had  the  sans-culottes  dashed  out  my  brains. 
That  would  have  ended  all! 

In  an  unending  bat-like  whirl  these  dark 
thoughts  flew  round  and  round  in  my  soul. 
On  I  tramped,  recklessly,  aimlessly.  I  turned 
one  street  corner  after  another  without  know- 
ing where  I  was  going.  I  tried  to  hold  the 
tears  back,  but  they  kept  rolling  down  my 
cheeks.  Never  had  I  suffered  so  bitterly  since 
that  night  when  I  came  back  to  the  hut  of  La 
Garde  and  found  myself  without  father  or 
mother,  alone.  The  same  despair  seized  me 
that  had  seized  me  then,  and  the  same  dark 
thought  came  to  me  —  the  river!  The  river 
would  not  be  frozen  like  the  pond  at  La  Garde 
—  and  oh,  the  good  bed  that  it  would  make 
for  me!  Where  was  that  good  kind  river? 


Storming  of  tfye  Hing10  Caetlc.  353 


AH  that  I  wanted  was  to  find  it  and  throw 
myself  into  it  —  and  so  be  forgotten  of  all  the 
world. 

As  I  looked  around  me  I  saw  that  the  gutter 
was  running  red  with  blood  —  the  blood  of  the 
unhappy  wretches  they  were  killing  in  the  big 
building  out  of  which  I  had  just  come  —  and  I 
knew  that  this  red  stream  must  flow  down  to 
the  river.  I  only  had  to  follow  it  and  it  would 
lead  me  to  the  great  river  for  which  I  so  longed. 

I  stepped  out  quickly,  but  carefully  kept 
sight  of  the  little  red  stream  that  rippled  on 
leading  me  to  my  deliverance.  And  presently, 
turning  a  corner,  I  dimly  saw  the  river  before 
me  —  overlaid  by  the  friendly  morning  mist 
that  veiled  from  me  my  dismal  grave.  And 
then,  as  before  at  the  pond  of  La  Garde,  I  drew 
back  for  a  spring. 

At  that  very  moment  I  heard  the  rattle  of 
drums.  I  hesitated.  I  stopped.  Off  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  in  front  of  what  had  been 
the  King's  Castle,  drums  were  beating  the  as- 
sembly —  just  as  they  did  on  the  morning  when 
we  made  the  attack.  What  could  that  drum- 
call  mean,  I  wondered.  Could  it  be  for  the 
departure  of  the  Marseilles  Battalion  ?  Could 
it  mean  that  the  tyrant  had  come  back  ?  But, 
whatever  it  meant,  it  put  fresh  life  into  me. 


354  ®t)e  Eeb0  of  tlje  HUM. 

Instead  of  jumping  into  the   river   I   hurried 
across  it  to  the  drums. 

When  I  came  in  front  of  the  Castle  I  found 
a  platform  set  up  on  which  were  three  Patriots. 
One  of  them  was  waving  the  flag  of  the  Na- 
tion, blue,  white  and  red;  another  held  up  a 
placard  on  which  was  written:  "The  Country 
is  in -Danger!  ";  the  third  had  before  him  on  a 
table  a  book  in  which  he  was  writing  down 
the  names  of  volunteers  for  the  army  of  the 
Revolution. 

Men  of  all  ages  were  pressing  forward  to  be 
enlisted :  old  fellows  with  grizzled  moustaches, 
youths,  boys  like  myself.  They  all  were  of 
the  poorer  class,  and  as  they  gave  their  names 
to  be  written  down  they  gave  everything  that 
they  had  to  give — their  blood  and  their  life. 
Each  man,  as  he  passed  in  front  of  the  altar  of 
his  Country  and  placed  his  name  on  the  roll 
of  his  Country's  army,  shouted  "Vive  la  Na- 
tion !  " — and  so  went  on  to  take  his  place  under 
the  command  of  a  sergeant  who  ranged  the 
volunteers  in  line.  As  each  fresh  company 
was  formed  its  men  were  given  guns  and  pow- 
der and  ball:  that  was  the  whole  of  their  ac- 
coutrement. Then  came  the  order:  "For- 
ward, march ! " — and  then  and  there  they 
started  on  a  forced  march  to  the  frontier. 


®l)c  Storming  of  tlje  Eittg's  Castle.  355 

My  heart  thrilled.  The  Country  in  danger  ? 
What!  We  had  pulled  down  the  King  and 
smashed  his  throne  to  bits  and  now  outsiders 
were  coming  to  set  up  King  and  throne  again 
and  to  ravage  our  land!  That  should  never 
be!  On  the  instant  my  mind  was  made  up. 
I  marched  to  the  platform  and  gave  in  my 
name  as  a  volunteer,  and  shouted  "  Vivo  la  Na- 
cioun ! "  as  I  turned  to  take  my  place  in  the 
ranks. 

"Stop,  citizen,"  said  the  Patriot  who  was 
writing  down  the  names.  "  Here  is  your  pay 
for  a  month,"  and  he  handed  me  three  crowns. 
And  then,  looking  hard  at  me,  he  went  on: 
"  Surely  I  know  your  face.  Haven't  you  been 
living  lately  with  my  good  neighbour  Plan- 
chot  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

Hearing  Planchot's  name  startled  and  moved 
me.  Right  away  I  seemed  to  see  Adeline 
and  Vauclair  and  Lazuli,  and  fear  and  shame 
and  sorrow  came  back  into  my  heart  and  the 
tears  came  close  to  my  eyes.  But  I  held  my- 
self together  and  forced  back  the  sob  that  was 
mounting  in  my  throat — for  it  never  should  be 
said  that  a  Marseilles  volunteer  had  wept  before 
a  Parisian  moustache! 

And  so,  having  steadied  myself,  I  said  to 


356  ®l)e  flc&s  of 


the  Patriot:  "As  you  are  our  neighbour,  I 
want  you  to  say  good-bye  for  me  to  my  peo- 
ple at  home  and  to  give  them  these  three 
crowns.  Please  say  to  them  :  '  Pascalet  sends 
you  these  three  crowns  in  remembrance  of 
your  great  kindness  to  him.  He  is  now  a 
volunteer  in  the  Army  of  the  Revolution.  The 
country  is  in  danger  and  he  has  started  for  the 
frontier.  '  ' 

As  I  spoke,  I  placed  my  three  crowns  in 
the  Patriot's  hand  —  and  with  them  I  seemed  to 
lay  down  also  my  load  of  sorrow  and  of  bitter 
shame. 

The  bright  sunshine  was  gilding  the  eaves 
of  the  King's  Castle  about  which  pretty  blue 
pigeons  were  flying  blithely.  Our  drums  rat- 
tled the  quick-step.  My  company  moved  — 
and  I  was  started  on  my  march  for  the  Frontier 
of  the  North  ! 

Old  Pascal  was  silent  for  some  moments, 
and  we  all  were  silent  with  him.  Even  the 
chattering  Materoun,  for  once  in  his  life,  was 
too  deeply  interested  to  wag  his  tongue.  Then 
Pascal,  sighing  a  little,  went  on. 

With  my  regiment,  I  was  back  in  Paris  a 
year  later  to  the  very  day  —  the  sixteenth  of 


®l)c  Storming  of  llje  fling's  Castle.  357 

Fructidor  in  the  year  II.  We  had  fought  at 
Valmy,  and  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhine  even 
into  Holland,  driving  the  last  Prussian  out  of 
the  territory  of  the  Republic.  Then  our  regi- 
ment was  ordered  to  the  South ;  and  we  were 
halting  in  Paris  to  enlist  more  men  before  join- 
ing the  Army  of  Italy. 

That  sixteenth  of  Fructidor  I  was  stationed 
on  guard  at  the  guillotine  that  was  chopping 
off  heads  on  the  Place  de  la  Revolution — stand- 
ing with  shouldered  arms  on  the  scaffold,  close 
to  the  National  Knife.  I  was  half  sick  with 
the  horrible  doings  going  on  there,  and  with 
my  back  to  the  guillotine  I  stood  looking  out 
over  the  eager  shouting  crowd. 

From  where  they  turned  a  far  corner,  I 
could  see  the  tumbrils  full  of  condemned  Aristo- 
crats as  they  slowly  made  their  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  scaffold  steps.  Some  of  the 
Aristocrats  were  very  brave,  looking  as  cool 
and  quiet  as  if  they  were  going  to  a  festival ; 
but  others,  poor  things!  seemed  more  dead 
than  alive — so  pale,  so  broken,  that  to  see 
them  fairly  drew  my  heart  out  of  my  body. 
But  it  made  no  difference  how  they  looked  or 
how  they  behaved.  Up  the  steps  they  came — 
and  the  big  knife,  without  resting,  cut  off  head 
after  head.  At  each  fall  of  the  knife  the  whole 


358  ®t)*  Ms  ot  tlje  ittibi. 

scaffold  shook,  and  a  cold  shiver  ran  through 
me — while  I  longed  and  longed  to  be  quit  of 
my  horrible  task. 

At  the  end  of  what  seemed  to  me  a  very 
long  time  I  saw  the  last  cart  coming,  and  with 
only  three  people  in  it:  two  women  and  a 
man.  It  was  nearly  over,  I  thought.  1  would 
have  to  hear  the  fall  of  the  knife  and  feel  the 
jar  of  the  scaffold  only  thrice  more.  Full  of 
pity,  I  watched  the  on-coming  cart. 

As  it  rounded  the  end  of  the  scaffold,  pass- 
ing right  beneath  me,  I  saw  that  the  man 
crouching  in  one  corner  suddenly  started  and 
then  leaned  still  more  forward  as  though  to 
hide  his  face;  as  if  he  had  recognised  me,  and 
did  not  want  me  to  recognise  him.  I  looked 
hard  at  him,  and  as  I  looked  my  heart  gave  a 
bound — it  was  Surto!  In  another  moment  I 
saw  that  the  two  crouching  women  were  the 
Marquise  Adelaide  and  La  Jacarasse! 

Oh,  that  time  the  guillotine  was  doing  good 
work!  That  time  I  did  not  turn  my  back  as 
the  knife  fell!  With  burning  eyes  I  looked  at 
them  as  they  were  pushed  out  of  the  cart  and 
up  the  scaffold  steps.  I  stared  hard.  I  wanted 
to  make  sure  of  them.  But  I  had  not  made  a 
mistake:  their  time  had  come! 

Surto,  coward  that  he  was,  drew  back  so 


Storming  of  t^e  Hing'a  Castle.  359 


that  the  women  might  go  first.  The  Marquise 
trembled  and  groaned  and  muttered  her  prayers. 
La  Jacarasse  squealed  like  a  sow  that  already 
feels  the  knife  stuck  in  her  throat.  The  execu- 
tioner was  used  to  all  that.  He  had  no  time 
to  waste.  He  caught  hold  of  Surto  and  pushed 
him  down  in  front  of  the  red  block.  I  tried  to 
speak.  I  wanted  to  curse  them  for  all  their 
crimes.  But  the  words  stuck  in  my  dry  throat, 
and  all  that  I  could  do  was  to  point  to  the 
sharp  knife  shining  above  them.  The  Marquise, 
looking  upward,  fell  on  her  knees  with  a  bitter 
cry;  and  even  I  started  back,  troubled  and 
amazed.  It  was  not  the  sight  of  the  knife  that 
so  thrilled  us;  but  the  sight,  above  the  knife 
on  the  cross-piece  of  the  guillotine,  of  a  name 
that  cried  vengeance: 

ADELINE. 

Three  times  the  great  knife  fell.  Three  times 
the  heavy  stroke  shook  the  scaffold.  Three 
times  there  fell  into  the  basket  a  head  with  eye- 
lids that  still  fluttered  and  with  jaws,  still  work- 
ing, that  bit  the  bloody  saw-dust. 

"Well  done!  Oh,  well  done!"  cried  La 
Mie,  jumping  up  and  clapping  her  hands. 
"  How  I  wish  I  had  been  there  to  see  them  get 


360  ®|)e  Heb0  of  lt)e  JttiM. 

their  deserts!  To  think  of  that  awful  Marquise 
— who  had  her  son  and  her  husband  murdered 
and  who  turned  over  her  daughter  to  La  Jaca- 
rasse !  It  seems  impossible !  " 

''And  that  Surto,"  put  in  Lou  Materoun. 
"What  a  Dutch  devil  he  was!  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  1  don't  believe  that  he  was  the  only  one 
who  killed  his  master  in  those  days.  We  all 
know  of  others  who  got  their  hands  on  what 
belonged  to  the  Aristos  who  emigrated  or  were 
guillotined — and  they  are  the  very  ones  who 
now-a-days  wear  green  ribbons  with  a  fleur-de- 
lys  in  their  buttonholes,  and  are  forever  taking 
off  their  hats  to  every  nobleman  who  goes  by." 

"  Those  times  had  to  be,"  said  my  grand- 
father, as  he  drew  the  cork  out  of  his  bottle  of 
malmsey. 

"Yes,  France  was  like  a  tree  that  needed 
pruning,"  added  Lou  Materoun. 

And  so  each  one  had  his  say,  while  La  Mie 
took  the  chestnuts  off  the  stove  and  handed 
them  around. 

While  I  had  been  sitting  still  in  my  corner 
the  cat  had  gone  to  sleep  on  my  lap  and  1  did 
not  dare  to  move  for  fear  of  waking  her.  But 
my  tongue  was  burning  to  ask  a  question;  and 
after  they  all  were  quiet,  with  their  mouths  full 
of  chestnuts,  I  ventured  to  speak. 


Storming  of  tlje  King's  (Castle.  361 


"If  you  please,  Pascal?"  I  said. 

"Well,  little  man,  what  is  it?"  he  an- 
swered. 

"If  you  please,  Pascal,  did  you  never  see 
dear  little  Adeline  again  ?" 

"  Never,  child." 

He  was  quiet  for  so  long  that  I  feared  that 
was  the  end  of  it.  But  at  last  he  spoke.  "  As 
I  told  you,  I  went  off  to  the  army  of  Italy  with 
General  Bonaparte  —  who  afterwards  became 
the  great  Emperor  Napoleon.  I  went  through 
all  the  wars  with  him.  I  followed  him  through 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  battles,  which  were 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  victories.  Under  him 
we  conquered  Italy,  Egypt,  Austria,  Prussia,  Ger- 
many, Spain,  Russia.  We  only  stopped  when 
there  was  no  more  earth  to  conquer.  I  ate 
wheat-bread  in  Rome  and  rye-bread  in  Berlin. 
I  made  my  bivouac  in  Vienna  and  lighted  my 
camp-fire  beside  the  palace  walls.  I  sharpened 
my  sword  on  the  stones  at  Jaffa.  I  picked  figs 
in  the  gardens  of  Saragoza.  1  ate  Russian 
horse-ribs  roasted  in  the  fire  of  Moscow.  I  fol- 
lowed the  great  Napoleon  through  everything, 
and  I  was  with  him  at  the  last  at  the  battle  of 
Mont-  Saint-Jean.  It  was  then,  finding  himself 
betrayed,  that  he  vanished.  But  he  will  come 
again  !  He  surely  will  come  again  ! 


362  ®|)e  ftebs  of  tl)e  JttiM. 

"And  as  to  Adeline,  not  a  day  of  my  life 
has  passed  without  my  thinking  of  her — 
though  only  once  I  heard  of  her  in  the  course 
of  all  my  wars. 

"It  was  in  Egypt,  on  the  third  of  Thermi- 
dor,  in  the  year  VI.  We  had  just  finished  kill- 
ing all  those  thousands  of  Mamelukes.  The 
sand  was  covered  with  their  bodies  as  far  as  a 
man's  eyes  could  see.  I  was  tired  out  after  so 
much  fighting;  and  while  I  was  resting  my- 
self, sitting  in  the  shade  of  the  first  step  of  the 
highest  Pyramid  in  Egypt,  a  drummer  of  our 
army  came  up  to  me.  '  If  I'm  not  wrong 
about  it,  comrade,'  said  he,  'you're  Pascalet, 
the  son  of  La  Ratine  ? ' 

"  'Oh,  yes,  that's  me,  my  good  Celegre,'  I 
answered.  'And  I'd  know  you  anywhere  by 
the  way  you  speak.  How  do  you  happen  to 
be  here  ?  And  when  did  you  leave  Malemort  ? 
Tell  me  what  my  people  are  doing  there.' 

"So  Celegre  sat  down  beside  me  there  on 
the  Pyramid  and  gave  me  all  the  news  from 
home.  My  mother  had  given  me  a  brother 
named  Lange,  he  said;  and  two  years  later 
my  father,  poor  fellow!  had  died.  But  I  had 
no  need  to  worry  about  my  mother,  Celegre 
went  on,  because  the  daughter  of  the  old  Mar- 
quis d'Ambrun,  Mademoiselle  Adeline — who 


®l)c  Storming  of  tlje  King's  (Eastlc.  363 

since  had  died  a  nun  in  the  Ursuline  Convent 
at  Avignon — had  made  her  a  present  of  the 
hut  at  La  Garde  with  a  bit  of  land  around  it, 
and  of  a  larger  bit  of  land  at  Pati,  and  of  a  snug 
little  house  in  the  village  in  the  Rue  Basse;  and 
with  all  that  property  my  mother  and  my  little 
brother  lived  very  comfortably  indeed.  '  And 
there's  somebody  to  look  after  her,  too,'  Ce- 
legre  went  on ;  '  a  man  in  Avignon,  a  joiner, 
named  Vauclair.  It  was  he  who  brought  out 
to  her  the  deeds,  written  by  the  notary's  hand, 
that  made  her  sure  of  Mademoiselle  Adeline's 
gifts;  and  he  is  as  kind  to  her  as  if  he  were 
her  own  son.  He  told  me  that  you  and  he 
marched  up  to  Paris  together  in  the  Marseilles 
Battalion,  and  he  thinks  the  world  of  you  to 
this  day. 

"  'What  a  good  fellow  he  is,  that  Vauclair! 
And  his  wife  Lazuli  and  his  boy  Clairet  are 
made  of  just  the  same  good  dough!  I  went  to 
see  them  as  1  passed  through  Avignon;  and 
after  I'd  said  I  was  from  Malemort,  and  was  a 
neighbour  of  your  mother's,  and  knew  you, 
they  couldn't  do  too  much  for  me  and  every- 
thing in  their  house  was  mine.  They  made 
me  take  breakfast  and  dinner  and  supper  with 
them ;  and  all  the  time  they  talked  about  Pas- 
calet,  their  own  dear  little  Pascalet;  and  they 


364  ®l)e  &ebs  of  tl)c  4JUM. 

cried  like  children — just  as  you  are  doing 
now.' 

"And  it  is  true,"  Pascal  said,  as  he  rose  to 
get  his  glass  of  malmsey,  "that  the  tears  had 
come  as  I  listened  to  all  that  Celegre  had  told 
me — but  the  sands  of  the  desert  can  drink 
many  tears." 

I  think  that  we  all  understood  how  deep 
was  Pascal's  feeling  as  he  said  these  words. 
No  one  spoke  for  a  minute  or  more;  and  then, 
of  course,  the  speaker  was  Lou  Materoun. 

"There's  just  one  thing,  Pascal,"  said  Lou 
Materoun,  "that  I  must  ask  you  to  clear  up 
for  me.  Just  now,  when  you  were  speaking 
about  the  great  Napoleon,  you  said  '  He  surely 
will  come  again.'  If  he's  still  alive,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  our  picture  at  home  means — the 
one  on  which  is  written :  '  The  return  of  Napo- 
leon's ashes  '  ?  I  always  thought  that  that  pic- 
ture showed  how  they  brought  him  back  from 
Saint  Helena  and  buried  him  in  the  Invalides, 
up  at  Paris." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  chuckleheaded  don- 
key!" answered  Pascal,  angrily.  "Don't  you 
know  that  the  Bourbons  got  up  that  funeral  to 
make  people  think  he  was  dead  ?  But  he  is 
not  dead.  I  who  speak  to  you  will  swear — 
and  I  am  ready  to  put  my  hand  into  the  fire  if 


®l)e  Storming  of  tlje  Hing's  Castle.  365 

I  swear  falsely — that  within  these  three  years 
past  I  have  seen  him  and  spoken  with  him. 
It  is  a  matter  about  which  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take. It  happened  in  broad  daylight  in  my 
field  at  Pati — that  lies  near,  you  know,  to  the 
place  they  call  Caesar's  Camp. 

"  I  had  been  spading  that  field  to  get  rid  of 
the  couch-grass,  and  while  I  was  standing  rest- 
ing I  saw  a  strange  man  coming  toward  me  with 
a  rake  on  his  shoulder.  He  walked  straight 
into  my  field,  and  when  he  was  within  ten 
paces  of  me  he  stopped  and  said:  'Good  and 
brave  soldier  of  the  Empire,  show  me  the  way 
to  Caesar's  Camp.' 

"And  as  he  stood  there,  plain  before  me 
in  the  sunlight,  I  knew  him — it  was  the  Em- 
peror! 

"I  was  so  upset,  so  dazed,  that  I  did  not 
know  which  end  I  was  standing  on.  And  all 
I  could  say,  as  I  pointed  out  the  way  to  him, 
was :  '  There — straight  ahead. ' 

"The  Emperor  turned  and  left  me,  crossing 
from  corner  to  corner  of  my  field.  And  since 
that  day " — Pascal  spoke  these  words  very 
solemnly — "I  have  never  given  a  single  hoe- 
stroke  or  spade-stroke  where  his  footsteps 
passed!  You  may  go  up  there,  if  you  like, 
and  you  will  find  in  my  field  a  grassy  cross- 


366  ®|)e  Eebs  of  tlje 


wise  path.  That  path  marks  the  footsteps  of 
the  great  Napoleon.  I  tell  you,  he  is  still 
alive!  " 

Old  Pascal  drained  his  glass  of  malmsey; 
and  then,  the  meeting  being  over,  each  man 
kindled  his  lantern  and  La  Mie  blew  out  the 
light. 


THE   END. 


J*    '•"••'»  II///II/I 


514  704 


